


Edges and Blades

by AJadeLion



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Gen, Glenn Fraldarius Lives, M/M, Mentions of Injuries, Modern AU, No beta but Glenn still lives, Nothing severe though, amputee Glenn Fraldarius, enemies to friends to lovers but I use the terms enemies and lovers Extremely Loosely, it's a hockey au but hockey doesn't really happen onscreen as such, it's pretty vague but mentions of Sylvain's less than Ideal childhood, pro hockey au but it's the ahl, some angst but perhaps less than usual?? maybe?, tags may update as I think of things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-06
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:26:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 60,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23033185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AJadeLion/pseuds/AJadeLion
Summary: Glenn Fraldarius' NHL career was cut short when he had a heart attack on the ice. Now, three years later he's about to enter his first season as the head coach of the AHL's Fhirdiad Lions. He's got a young team full of potential and he's ready to show that he's not done making his mark in the hockey world just yet. Except there's just one problem, his younger brother, his should be starting goaltender keeps picking fights with his up and coming defensemanorFelix really doesn't want to be here, Sylvain really really does, they both try too hard and it's a disaster on the ice. Glenn decides they need to fix it and assigns four weeks of good old fashioned bonding. It's not therapy and it's not a date but there may be some unintended side effects.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius & Glenn Fraldarius, Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier, Ingrid Brandl Galatea & Sylvain Jose Gautier, Ingrid Brandl Galatea/ Dorothea Arnault (mentioned)
Comments: 154
Kudos: 169
Collections: Bread Eaters





	1. Before

**Author's Note:**

> God it's been 17 years but I have finally decided to start posting this. This is my first ever chaptered fic (and first-ever modern au) which is Extremely Terrifying and there's a high probability I will regret this decision almost immediately but here I go. There are 10 chapters and I Hope to be able to update weekly But Life. 
> 
> Nobody asked for this but I'm doing it anyway!
> 
> This is a hockey au because at my core I'm a jock and I want everyone else to suffer in sports hell with me. However! You shouldn't need to know much of anything about hockey to follow along. The only thing that perhaps might not be common knowledge is the NHL and AHL, they're both professional leagues, the NHL is the very top in north america with the AHL right below it. NHL teams have AHL affiliate teams where they grow and develop their players and can call up players when injuries happen. Obviously this is a dramatic oversimplification but that's okay! 
> 
> I play Very loose and fast with how the NHL and AHL work because what is fanfic if not changing the things that don't work for you? I keep the very real NHL team the Colorado Avalanche but changed pretty much Everything about their history and threw out their real AHL team the Colorado Eagles which I replaced with my fictional Fhirdiad Lions. Otherwise, I left the remaining AHL teams as is because I cannot be bothered to name more fictional teams. 
> 
> Additionally, Glenn's heart attack and related lower leg amputation is Absolutely a reference to Craig Cunningham who's story is truly remarkable.

The office door swings shut, trapping Felix in a 10 by 15 foot space with his older brother, cutting off the sound of laughter in the halls with a single click.

Felix fixes his attention on the shitty carpet. He can see a fist-sized blotch where it is clear that it has been treated with some kind of aggressive stain remover. He wonders what idiot had the bright idea to come bleed on the coach’s floor rather than see a trainer.

He toes absentmindedly at the puck that Glenn has abandoned on the floor to be used as a doorstop.

“So. How are you feeling Flex?”

Felix bristles at the sound of the old nickname. Every time Glenn uses it sends a jolt through Felix’s body, a physical reminder of their past. It’s tinged with affection too and he really doesn’t need to give the entire team another reason to think he’s the head coach's favorite.

Also, he’s worried that even though he put the first teammate that used it in a headlock it’s starting to spread and he really doesn’t need an entire team of people calling him Flex. He looks up to glare unhappily about it.

Glenn, his brother, his head coach is half perched on, half leaning against his new desk. He’s remarkably comfortable positioned in the middle of the piles and piles of shoved aside paperwork.

A framed photo of their father, still young enough to be in his Avalanche uniform with his arms wrapped around his two sons balances precariously on the edge of the bookshelf that houses all of the nostalgic junk Glenn decided to bring with him.

Despite the mess and chaos of the office, Glenn’s pose is casual, almost entirely relaxed apart from the way that he’s deliberated shifted all of his weight off of his right leg.

It finally hits Felix, who has spent the better part of the last three weeks avoiding looking at Glenn every moment that they’re both in the rink as much as possible, that Glenn is dressed like a coach. A proper coach. Sweatsuit and all. Shoulders to ankles in Fhirdiad Lion Blue. No deep burgundy or muted blue of the Avalanche. Just royal Fhirdiad Blue.

At least he’s taken off the baseball cap he insists on wearing in practice, however, his whistle still hangs loosely from his neck. Up close the look doesn’t seem quite right, the sweats are too big, the jacket, in particular, is loose instead of tight to his frame. It’s been a long time since Felix has thought of Glenn as looking small in anything. The childishness of it only emphasizes the fact that at 26 years old, Glenn is too young to be doing this.

“Felix?”

Felix startles before realizing that he’s being stared at with the expectation that he’s answer the question asked of him. “Uh. What?”

“How are you feeling?”

Against his better judgment, Felix meets Glenn’s eyes for half a second and immediately regrets it. There’s concern in Glenn’s gaze and Felix hates it. He Hates It. He takes two stumbling steps backward before his right heel thunks firmly against the door. The bookshelves shake, the motion sending the picture frame plummeting to the floor. He dives after it, drawing blood from his tongue as he bites down at the sharp pain of his temple colliding with the edge of the desk.

Cradling the frame to his chest, Felix takes a steadying breath, crawling backward and pressing his back against the door before slowly rising back to his feet.

How is he feeling? He’s sore and achy as fuck for starters. No matter what kind of training he does in the offseason, the start of season training is always brutal and this has been no exception. His groin is angry because apparently he’s an old man now who’s body yells at him when he doesn’t do a proper cool down one (1) day. His ribs ache from being sat on by over-aggressive forwards and overzealous defensemen alike. His left shoulder smarts from taking not one but three full speed slap shots to the newly unprotected area there. His head hurts now because he never thinks before he acts and everyone and their mother know it.

But he doesn’t think this is what Glenn is asking about. They grew up playing hockey, this is nothing new to either of them. They know about aches and pains. Actually, between the two of them, they know about much worse than aches and pains. So perhaps this is Glenn finally realizing that he’s made a mistake in bringing him here.

He scowls, “What do you mean?”

“How are you feeling about all of this? The move, the team, being home? I know you have opinions and I know you want to share them with me, so what are they?”

Felix wraps his arms around his chest protectively, his fingers latching onto the too-thin fabric of his team-issued t-shirt, the metal edge of the frame digs into his chest with a sharp pain “You really want to know what I honestly think?”

“Of course Flex.” Glenn punctuates his affirmation with a casual smile and a shiver runs up Felix’s spine. Perhaps this is the scariest of all of the changes that Glenn has gone through. This smile. This easygoing genuine smile that Glenn now throws around as it comes naturally. It didn’t used to be like that. In fact, Felix still remembers when he was the only thing that could make Glenn really smile. And it isn’t fair. When Felix went through the worst trauma of his life he came out feeling like he’d never smile again. But then Glenn went through worse and came through with that damn sunshine smile? In what world is that fair?

It’s just another point that goes to show that everything about this is wrong. The only reason Felix agreed to sign with the Lions was for Glenn and yet even that is all wrong. There’s nothing for him here. He inhales, “This was a mistake.”

“What was a mistake?” Glenn’s head is tipped, his face the perfect image of innocent ignorance but ever since the day he was born Felix has never known a time where he’s known something that Glenn does not. It’s infuriating at best.

But he’s too tired to play games and so he bites. Felix lets go of his t-shirt and gestures vaguely at the air between them. His grip on the metal slips and the frame goes flying, its arc taking it directly towards Glenn’s face. Glenn grabs it out of the air with impossible ease. When he doesn’t comment on the matter, Felix continues, “Me signing that stupid contract and coming here to your flaming dumpster fire of a team.”

“Come on now Flex, the team isn’t that bad.” Glenn’s neutral expression contorts into a scowl as he latches onto the last part of Felix’s sentence. It’s a genuine reaction Felix knows, Glenn has formed a frankly outrageous emotional attachment to this team that he’s had for such a short period of time.

Felix laughs, and even he is caught off guard by how bitter the sound is. “Yeah right.”

Glenn pushes off of his desk so that he’s properly standing. Felix, in turn, stops leaning against the door.

“They only missed the playoffs by four points last year. There’s a lot of potential here.” Glenn gestures at the door behind Felix. At the rink. At the team. In the distance, something large rumbles in agreement.

Felix exhales through his teeth, “So you flew halfway around the world and begged me to come home and play for your pet project of a team.” He bites down on his tongue before anything about Glenn’s job being offered out of pity slips out.

“I flew halfway around the world and offered you, a free agent, a contract to play for a professional team that isn’t nearly 5000 miles from everyone you know.” Glenn’s tone holds cold and even and though objectively, Glenn is terrifying when he gets like this, Felix can’t help but feel relieved that at least this side of him still exists.

“I was happy in Sweden! And you’re admitting that you offering me that contract had nothing to do with the team and everything to do with your own personal feelings.”

He’d gotten hurt and rehab had been slow and the world was moving fast and Felix had been so so lost. And so people told him to start over. Make something of himself on his own. And he had, in Sweden. In Sweden away from his family name and all of the tragedies and drama and feelings that followed, he’d been able to just Play Hockey. And then Glenn went and guilted him into coming home.

There’s an extended pause and for a fraction of a second, Felix dares to think that for the first time ever he’s won an argument against his older brother but then, in a voice so low and full of concern that Felix barely even recognizes it as Glenn, he asks “Were you happy in Sweden? I was talking to Nico-”

Outrage nearly breaks Felix’s voice as he cuts Glenn off, “You talked to my agent about me?”

“Nico was my agent long before he was yours. He was asking me if I knew why you hadn’t resigned with Lulea yet.”

“Why I hadn’t signed with Lulea was none of Nico or your business. It was not an invitation for you to stage a rescue and drag me home.”

The idea of Glenn knowing how lonely he had been, scares the hell out of Felix. Because yeah, Felix had been happy in Sweden. He’d loved Just Playing Hockey. That was what he had been raised to do. It was what his father did. What his brother had done until it had nearly killed him. But he was so lonely. And the fact that despite doing everything he could to hide that fact, Glenn had known. It scares him.

Glenn’s eyes narrow and Felix briefly thinks that he’s about to be torn to shreds. But then Glenn sags, letting half of his weight fall back against his desk, “Maybe I was trying to do two things at once? Have you ever heard the expression “kill two birds with one stone”? I needed a new goaltender for my team and I was worried about my baby brother living by himself in a different continent. Bringing you home solved both of those issues.”

Felix waits, tries to mentally count to ten, but only makes it to seven before asking with a mostly controlled edge of bitterness, “So you’re telling me that upper management was totally on board with you suggesting your 21-year-old brother for a potential starting goaltender?”

Glenn runs both of his hands through his hair. It’s an old habit. Something he used to do every time he took off his helmet, “Actually, yes. You’re a great hockey player and believe it or not Flex, people out there believe in you and your talent. And that’s why it’s so fucking frustrating that you’re refusing to live up to your potential.”

“Refusing? I’m not refusing to do anything.”

He came. He gave up the life he’d made because Glenn asked him too and now he has the audacity to accuse him of refusing to do anything.

“So you’re telling me that you’re 100% here? Physically? Mentally? You’re not just going through the motions?” Glenn knocks his fist against his desk twice, the sound echoing with surprising volume in the small space.

“What are you saying?”

“I know you’re not thrilled about Dimitri being here-”

A new wave of anger engulfs Felix's entire body. He really isn’t sure how they’d made it this many weeks of living together without once talking about Dimitri, it had to change at some point. Might as well be now, “Oh! Yes, Dimitri. Let’s suppose for a moment here that I believe that I got this job on my own merit, what the hell is Dimitri doing here?”

“I had no part of the trade for Dimitri. He’s on an NHL contract, I’m an AHL coach, I couldn’t have told them to trade for him if I wanted to. I’m not even the only person responsible for this team. I’m part of a staff. I’m not all-powerful, nothing that happens here is entirely my doing.”

It’s true Felix supposes. He knows Glenn isn’t all-powerful, he used to be an NHL player and now he’s an AHL coach. He’s a league down from where he used to be and that’s got to be frustrating.

But he also knows that Glenn isn’t a fool. For the first year or so after he was abruptly forced into retirement, Glenn sat neat and pretty in the Avs’ front office. Sat there being extremely visible to the people but actually doing nothing at all. Now he’s given that up for a real job coaching in the minors. And yes, he’s part of a team of coaches and yes he’s undermined due to his youth and inexperience but he still has power in the franchise and the fact that he’d straight up deny that fact to Felix’s face is unbelievably infuriating.

Felix kicks the door behind him with enough force to make the hinges creak in protest. The bookshelves tremble again, threatening to spill more of their contents to the floor, “Oh cut the bullshit. Even if you didn’t tell them to make the trade, you cannot possibly be so dumb as to think you had no part of it. You played for the Avs. You almost died playing for the Avs. Like it or not G, that’s who you are now.”

The Avalanche patch stitched to the right shoulder of Glenn’s jacket sits there, silently taunting them both. The team that’s their father’s past and should be Glenn’s present and might be Felix’s future.

Glenn takes a steadying breath, “I like to think that I’m more than what happened to me, that I earned the good things that have happened to me. But you know what? It’s hard. I know that people think of me as a tragedy. That they talk about me in the past tense. ‘Oh what a shame, the Fraldarius boy who gave his career so much heart he broke it.’ ‘Whatever happened to Avalanche’s shut down defenseman?’ ‘He got sick and lost his lower leg. A real pity’. I am fully aware of all of it. I will always be aware of it.”

Done with his outburst, Glenn glances around the tiny office as if someone could be listening and learning that Glenn Fraldarius is not in fact, the perfect level headed coach he makes himself out to be.

“So you really think you had no part in the Avs deciding to trade their up and coming goalie and a nearly NHL ready forward for Dimitri Blaiddyd of all people?” Felix knows he should stop. He knows. But he’s still angry. There’s this anger that’s lived inside him for the last five years and the only person who could possibly understand is standing in front of him.

Glenn scoffs and waves his right hand so violently that he nearly sends an entire pile of scouting notes careening to the floor, “No. Of course. But I mean, what do you want to hear from me, Felix? It’s not common knowledge that we grew up together.”

“Maybe it’s not common knowledge but you’re not average. Dimitri isn’t average. All it takes is a couple of google searches to gather enough information to put the pieces together. You sign me here and then the next week, one level up in the franchise, someone trades for Dimitri. Suddenly, you, a brand new coach, with a job that some would argue that you only have because management feels bad about you almost dying, have your baby brother and your foster brother on your team.”

There’s another extended silence but there’s nothing triumphant about it. Felix knows there will be no winners in this conversation.

“Flex, look, I’m sorry it worked out like this. If I could have picked a way to bring you home, it wouldn’t have gone down like this. But we’re here now. We can’t change it. I get that you’re mad. You have every right to be mad.”

Felix looks down at his legs and is mildly surprised to see that they’re shaking. He’s literally trembling with rage. Well, he’s trembling with anger and fatigue and fear and a cocktail of a million different things he doesn’t want to be feeling. So yeah, he supposes it’s safe to say that he’s mad.

Glenn continues, “So, if when this year ends and your contract is up, if you still hate it here, I won’t put up any kind of a fight if you want to leave. I swear. You can go back to living on your own in Sweden if you want. Move to Antarctica. Quit hockey. Become a spoken word poet. Do whatever the fuck you want and I won’t bother you again.”

When they were kids, Felix would chase after Glenn, but Glenn had little interest in spending time with his baby brother. And so he would make deals. If Felix would just complete these simple tasks then Glenn would play with him. And Felix, the eager younger brother always agreed. And Glenn the scheming older brother always ended up on top. Their parents had had little sympathy for when Felix would cry about Glenn winning yet again, saying that someday he would learn. This must be it. This must be the moment he was training for and yet he feels totally lost.

“That’s it? After everything you said in the summer? You’d just let me go?”

“Yes. I’ll let you go if you promise me something.”

Felix sighs, “Promise you what?”

Glenn clasps his hands together and Felix hates that it feels genuine, that he can’t laugh it off as overdramatic antics, “Give this season your all. Lose this mentality that you’re only here because I needed someone to hold my hand for this first season of coaching. Play like you mean it, maybe actually talk to your teammates from time to time. If you insist on shooting yourself in the foot, this season is going to drag and drag and one of us will end up killing the other. And I don’t think we actually want that. Please, Felix, give yourself a chance to be successful.”

“Fine. Whatever. I’ll try. I’ll do...that.”

Just as Felix is getting scared that Glenn 2.0 is about to start crying, they’re saved by a knock and then the door pulling open just enough to reveal half of a familiar face.

“Uh? Coach? You wanted to see me? Is now a bad time? I heard... voices?”

“He’s all yours.” Felix grabs the edge of the door and yanks it open the rest of the way, the sudden motion sending a startled Lions Defenseman, Sylvain Gautier stumbling through it. Sylvain’s hand finds Felix’s shoulder and uses it to regain his balance. Felix humphs. This is far from the first time today that they’ve collided.

Glenn smiles that new Coach Fraldarius smile, “Not at all. Sylvain. Come in.”

Sylvain lets go of Felix’s shoulder and hesitantly takes a couple of steps closer to Glenn, making the already cramped office feel even more claustrophobic.

Felix takes this as his cue to leave and silently thanks Sylvain for the escape distraction, “I’ll be in the car.”

Glenn’s fist raps against the desk again. “Felix. Stay.”

With one foot already out the door, Felix pivots “What?” He wants to go home. God, he just wants to go home and try and forget about all of this. What more can Glenn possibly want from him?

“I actually wanted to talk to both of you at once.” Glenn deliberately meets both of his player’s eyes.

“Jesus fuck,” Felix mutters.

Sylvain startles but ignores the way Felix fumes with anger to his right “Oh okay. What about?”

Glenn takes his time to study the tablet that he’s grabbed from the other side of the desk before looking up and asking, “Sylvain, this is your second season with the Lions yes?”

“Yes coach.” Sylvain flashes a smile that Felix notes is practiced, easy and bright. Another one. God fucking dammit, it’s hard to breathe when surrounded by people who do that.

After nodding, Glenn spends a moment in thoughtful silence, “New coach, new goalie, plenty of other changes, I imagine things aren’t exactly how they were last year? How would you say that you’re feeling about it?”

Felix slams his elbow against the doorframe, ignoring the pain that shoots up his arm, “Do I really have to be here for this?”

“Felix” Glenn snaps with enough anger that he almost sounds like the bitter teenager he once was. Felix gives in, holding both his hands up in mock surrender. Glenn continues, “Sylvain? Your thoughts.”

Sylvain stops chewing on his lip, “Uh, well, of course, it’s different. But every season is always different, it’s just part of the sport I guess.”

“How would you say it’s going so far?”

With a nervous chuckle, Sylvain decides on, “It’s definitely still a work in progress.”

“Hmp. That’s generous.”

Cheerful, amicable, compassionate, Glenn 2.0 dissolves and is replaced with the cold demanding stature of his original self, “Felix? Do you have something to add?”

With a sigh, Felix swings the rest of his body back into the office, “You already heard my take. It’s a certifiable disaster.”

For the first time since entering the room, Sylvain turns his attention to Felix, “Isn’t that a bit harsh?”

Felix rolls his eyes, “Did you enjoy getting blown out in both of our preseason games?”

“Preseason doesn’t actually mean anything in the grand scheme of things. It’s a long season. We just need to figure a few things out.”

“Cute. That’s what you say when you lose in preseason because you got a couple of unlucky bounces and it ended up in your net and you hit the crossbar more often than you put it in the goal. It’s not what you say when your defensemen keep slamming into your goaltender and when the goals scored against you come off of your own team’s sticks and legs.”

Over the years Felix has played a lot of hockey. He’s played for a lot of different teams. He’s fallen asleep in the car and woken up and just accepted the jersey handed to him without any questions. He’s played with people whose names he never bothered to learn but never once has he felt this before. Felt this incompatible, this out of place. It’s new, he hates it and it seems to always come back to Sylvain Gautier. Just being in the same room is agitating.

“I-” Sylvain opens his mouth to retaliate but pauses as he looks down in confusion at a weight against his chest. Glenn has one hand pressed against Sylvain’s chest and the other pressed against Felix’s. Felix frowns. He doesn’t remember stepping closer to Sylvain. Sylvain must be surprised too, as he stumbles backwards into one of the bookshelves.

Glenn slowly releases his grip on Sylvain and Felix, “Look, this is a new dynamic, obviously there’s going to be a transition period. Sylvain is right, honestly, it’s just part of the sport, for a lot of it, there’s not much we can do but wait for the kinks to work themselves out. But Felix is also right. I respect both of you as players immensely. Felix, someday here you’re going to believe me when I tell you you’re a damn good goaltender. Sylvain, from what I’ve seen on tape you have the skill and the composure to be the main pillar of this defense.”

Sylvain startles, physically taken aback at the praise. Felix can’t blame him, despite his new positive attitude, Glenn is sparing at best with specific compliments and Sylvain’s performance thus far on the season hasn’t exactly been awe-inspiring, “Coach, I don’t-”

Glenn brushes Sylvain off, “I’m still talking. But clearly something is wrong. I know that Felix has never been a people person as such but all things considered, he’s not clashing with the rest of the defense core.”

Felix lets his head fall back against the edge of the doorframe,“I’m right here.” Yes, he hasn’t clashed in this same way with the rest of the defense core but that’s because he hasn’t given them the opportunity to. He steers clear of them and they have the common sense not to go out of their way to bother him in return. Given the chance, he'd cheerfully chew the rest of the team out for being in his way as well.

“I’m your coach and I’m still talking. I don’t know what your issue is but clearly there’s something that goes beyond the ice getting in your way. There’s just a blatant lack of communication between you and it’s getting in your ways. You both have so much more potential than you’re showing and it’s like your sabotaging yourselves. You need to sort yourselves out.”  
Sylvain swallows, “How?”

Glenn waves vaguely at the wall, “I don’t know exactly. But it starts with you two getting on the same wavelength. Right now it’s like you’re not even in the same room. Spend some time with each other. Get to know each other as people and maybe it’ll translate to the ice. Go out for dinner and just talk to each other. Not about hockey.”

“Talk to each other?” Felix echos with dull disbelief.

“Yes.”

Sylvain raises an eyebrow, “Go out?”

“Yes.”

“Like therapy?” Felix asks at the exact same moment Sylvain asks “Like a date?”

Glenn forces a smile, “Think of it more like Coach Mandated Bonding.”

“You want us to eat together one time? Sure. Whatever.”

There’s an inherent challenge in Glenn’s tone. It feels like he’s implying he doesn’t think Felix can do what's being asked of him and no matter how stubborn Felix, the one thing he’s always been weak too is a direct challenge. He can and will do a lot of things he doesn’t want to in order to prove his brother wrong. He definitely doesn’t want to spend an evening alone with Sylvain Gautier, he hates making small talk over food and he doesn’t want to spend extra time with Gautier but if it gets Glenn to leave him alone, fuck it, he’ll do it.

“Come now Felix, I’ve known you since you were born. It’s not going to be that easy. I wouldn’t let you bullshit your way through this easily.”

Felix’s fingers drum against the doorframe, “What then? You’re going to chaperone. Mediate? Make us write reports on each other’s home lives?”  
Glenn shakes his head without taking time to consider this, “No. I’ll let the results on the ice speak for themselves. But for the next, let’s say four weeks, you’re going to spend two nights a week having dinner together. Bonding.”

Sylvain swallows and steals the question that rests on the tip of Felix’s tongue, “And if we don’t?”

Glenn shrugs, palms up, his casual demeanor entirely at odds with the steely look of determination in his eyes, “I’m your coach. I’ll think of something.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time! The first Coach's Mandated Bonding session. Sylvain finds that getting Felix to give an inch is like pulling nails and this might be a very long season. 
> 
> This admittedly has gone through Many different versions. In the original version, the story opened in a hotel room in Sweden with Glenn begging and guilting Felix into returning to North America. While I removed it from the story I still imagine it's what happened and who knows maybe someday I'll release the side story of the details of Felix signing his contract.


	2. Week 1, Session 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bonding begins the night before the first real game of the season. It's about as slow and painful as Sylvain expects.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god, I'm actually doing it. I'm actually adding a chapter to a multi-chapter fic! This is not one of my favorite chapters overall but that's fine. I think I forgot to mention this last chapter but this is indeed an alternating pov fic because something compelled me to make that decision when I was writing it and it's too late to change my mind now. 
> 
> Also, I realized entirely too late into writing that it was a Mistake for me, a person who does Not like thinking or talking about food to make a fic where literally almost every chapter is just Over A Meal but oh well...

Sylvain stands outside he restaurant, leaning against the glowing Open sign in the window. The wind comes in bursts, cutting through the dark evening and the constant drizzle of rain. It feels appropriate for his mood. 

Felix isn’t technically late yet. It’s 7:22 and they agreed to meet at 7:25 for their 7:30 reservation. Or rather, Sylvain had proposed meeting at 7:25 for a 7:30 reservation and Felix had taken the time to carefully respond,  _ K _ . 

It feels weird being this anxious. It’s just dinner. He’s had dinner before. He’s had dinner with teammates before. Hell, he lives almost directly above his defense partner. It makes life easier when pretty much any time you drop by Dedue’s apartment unannounced, there will be food that he smiles fondly if you eat. It’s nice, not having to eat alone in his apartment all the time.

He checks his messages again. There’s one from someone with the initials JW, a girl, Sylvain thinks, he vaguely remembers meeting a girl with a J name at a bar last week. It simply reads  _ Good luck in ur game tnite! Score a goal for me! _

Considering that the Lions aren’t playing tonight but the Avs are, Sylvain is at least 90% sure that she thinks he plays for the Avalanche. And honestly? He’s probably not going to bother correcting her. She’s not the first person and probably won’t be the last to just assume that when he says he’s a professional hockey player, he means the NHL. Is it the morally upstanding thing to do? Absolutely not. But really it’s no different than dropping his dad’s name and having people Assume he’s going to be a politician and he’s been doing that for years now. 

There’s another unread message from a mysterious contact that simply reads  _ U free tonight? _ He’s about to hit delete contact, because honestly, he doesn’t think he’s ever going to see this man again, better to cut his losses now when a new message comes in. 

It’s from Ingrid and it says  _ be nice.  _

Sylvain grins and shoots back  _ I always am.  _ Which Ingrid does not bother granting a response to. Sylvain assumed she’s rolling her eyes because he assumes that she rolls her eyes after at least 85% of the texts she receives from him. But despite that, she’s still his best friend. 

Last year, when he confessed to being lonely at mealtime, Ingrid had started video chatting him over dinner to make sure he actually ate, even though they live in different time zones now. 

The only reason she knows that he’s at this Coach’s Mandated Dinner Date anyway is because he had to turn down her offer for a movie night. 

It’s not unusual for one or both of them to have to ditch in order to deal with in person responsibilities. It sucks but no one ever said a long-distance friendship would be easy. Next year, after she graduates and goes pro- because she _will_ go pro (She's worked too fucking hard for too fucking long not to), everything will change again which is a frankly terrifying prospect. He really doesn't want to lose the one person who knows he's trying to be better. 

But he's not here to bitch and moan about something that won't happen for more than half a year. No, he's here to have a perfectly civil dinner date with his teammate. You know, as you do when you're trying to prove that you are in fact a capable hockey player and bit just someone who causes more work for the goalie. It's fine, he can deal with this. 

Still, it's weird. Weird because it's the coach's orders. So far he doesn’t mind Coach Fraldarius. He’s young, sure. Younger than some of the players on the team but Sylvain doesn’t mind. He knows his stuff and really that’s all for in a coach. Sure, now he’s pushing Sylvain to bond with his younger brother. Which is odd but what coach isn’t a little odd? 

Even so, it’s far from the most painful thing a coach has ever done. And unlike jumping in a freezing pool in the middle of winter, this seems unlikely to end in hypothermia or pneumonia. 

No. What makes this odd is that for some reason Felix Fraldarius hates him. His goalie hates him. This has literally never happened before. He’s a defenseman. He likes to think he’s a good defender. That should make him a goalie’s second-best friend right under the goalposts. But no, Felix hates him. 

So coach’s order or not, Sylvain is going to crack this case open. And it never hurts to be prepared and so he’s done some quick google searching to get ahead. Minor league or no, they’re professional hockey players, there has to be something useful out there about Felix. Sylvain is also a big enough man to admit that he’s googled himself on more than one occasion. Hated most of what he found but he only has himself to blame for that. 

Sylvain’s come up with a list of the biggest results about Felix Fraldarius that he’s come across in the ten minutes he’s been searching and standing here that basically boils down to:

  1. His father played in the NHL and won the cup (with the Avalanche, twice)
    1. Now works as a scout for the Avalanche
  2. His mother was an Olympic alpine skier (deceased) 
  3. His brother played in the NHL (for the Avalanche) before getting sick
    1. Now works as the head coach for the Lions
  4. He was drafted 129th overall (4th round) by the Panthers but never signed with them
    1. Instead, left North America entirely and went to play pro hockey in the SHL
  5. When he was 18 he turned down a spot on the Olympic team for ...oh god what was his mother’s home country again???



Sylvain is midway through typing out ‘Joanna Fraldarius nationality’ when a black car pulls up, splashing cold dirty slush onto his boots. He looks up as Felix hops out of the passenger seat.

“You're here.” 

Sylvain checks his watch. 7:27. He elects not to comment on it. Instead, he notices that the driver of the car is leaning over and waving. Sylvain hesitantly waves back. “Is that the coach?” 

Felix doesn’t even bother looking over his shoulder, “Yeah.” 

“I didn’t know he was chaperoning.” 

“He’s not. He’s just dropping me off.” Felix pauses, and then as an afterthought adds, “I don’t drive.” 

Sylvain balks, “You don’t drive? Like you can’t or you don’t?” Sylvain can’t imagine not being able to drive. Sometimes when he gets in the car, he’s not going any place in particular. The most exciting part of his 16th birthday was the agonizing wait at the DMV to take his test and finally be able to drive legally. 

He’d been driving for the better part of the two years leading up to that as well. For people who worked hard at the act of being caring parents, they sure left their keys to their very fast cars unattended a lot of the time. 

So it had been fine. It had been fine until Miklan had convinced him to drive him and his stupid friends to a stupid party and the night had ended with Sylvain nearly putting the car in the damn freezing river. A tree had barely stopped that from happening. 

More than once Sylvain has been told that he lacks certain crucial self-preservation instincts. But it’s fine. It takes more than a near-death experience to turn him off from doing stupid things. 

“I know how. I just don’t have my license.” Unbothered, Felix grabs the door handle and swings the door open with more than a little unnecessary force. 

Sylvain narrowly moves before it’s flung into his face, “Oh. I didn’t know that. I can give you a ride home after we’re done.”

Is this a trap? It feels like a trap. Or a test at the very least. Except there’s nothing whatsoever about Felix’s demeanor that makes it seem like he isn’t being genuine. 

Right. He reminds himself.  _ Not a date. _ “Alright. So have you been here a lot?” 

“A couple of times.” 

“Good enough for me.” 

The hostess escorts them to their table and Felix slides into a chair that puts him in a corner between the window and large glowing fish tank. Sylvain takes the seat opposite him. 

They’re face to face, finally having to actually acknowledge each other as people. Or so Sylvain expected. Instead, Felix immediately picks up his menu and fixes his attention on it, deliberately looking away from Sylvain. 

Fine, Sylvain thinks. Be that way. 

A tired-looking girl, who Sylvain estimates can’t possibly be out of high school yet comes over and asks if they’d like anything to drink. Felix stiffly requests water. Sylvain follows suit as he wonders if deciding not to drink was a huge mistake. 

Felix has his free arm crossed protectively across his plain black sweatshirt. For the first time, Sylvain realizes just how small Felix is. Without the height from his skates and the breadth of his pads, he’s both short and slight. Nothing about his stature is particularly imposing. Not like the hulking figure that guards their goal with his life. In fact, only the expression of complete disgust ties the two together. 

It’s a remarkable transformation to be sure but perhaps equally remarkable is the fact that Sylvain has never noticed it before. Has he really never looked at Felix outside of the rink before? How is that possible? At this point, Sylvain is rarely thrown by seeing his teammates in street or casual wear. At the very least they’ve crossed paths in the locker room and he’s seen him before he put his pads on or after he’d taken them off. Hell, they stood next to each other in the coach’s office when they’d been given this damn assignment and yet somehow Sylvain hadn’t really Looked at Felix. 

It shouldn't be possible and yet somehow clearly it is because Sylvain can say without a doubt that this is a new experience. This is the first time he's really looking at Felix without the mask. Both literally and figuratively. 

So that’s interesting. Is this what Coach meant? About getting to know each other as people outside of hockey? It might not be necessary but surely it helps to at least know the faces of the people you’re on a team with. 

It’s intriguing at the very least and Sylvain likes things that are intriguing. He also likes things that are pretty and Felix’s face is definitely pretty. 

His hair is messily pulled back from his face in a way that allows Sylvain to admire the sharp cut of his jaw and the angle of his cheekbones. A mole just below his left ear stands out against his skin. People like to think that the mask keeps the goalie's face safe but clearly something got through at some point because a pale scar arcs across his right cheek, barely missing scraping his eye. It’s all beautiful and it’s all captivating and part of Sylvain’s brain honestly hasn’t comprehended the fact that this is the same guy he keeps barreling into because they keep playing the same puck despite yelling that they got it. 

Apparently his staring isn’t quite as subtle as he likes to think because Felix raises his gaze just long enough to fix Sylvain with a glare before raising his menu even higher and his entire face vanishes behind it. 

It’s just as well really, they’ve been here for literal minutes and Sylvain hasn’t even opened his menu yet. Physically, he’s hungry, he’s always hungry these days. Such is the life of a professional athlete after all. Even days like this where practice was specially designed to be easy on the body he burns through tons of calories. So physically he’s hungry but mentally he’s too busy being captivated by Felix’s entire being to be interested in the idea of food. 

The tired girl returns and studies them with an expectant gaze and even though Sylvain has barely made it through the first page of the menu, he plasters on a confident grin and orders. Felix follows suit though his voice is so soft that Sylvain can barely hear him from across their tiny table. 

The waitress walks off. Sylvain takes a long sip from his water glass pretending that it’s something, anything with more kick, “So,” he lets the glass fall back to the table, hitting the cloth tablecloth with a muted thunk, “Let’s get to know each other yeah?” He’s not particularly optimistic but there’s a chance, however small, that this could be quick and painless. 

Felix exhales for a carefully counted 8 beats, “Name?” 

Ah. So that’s a no on the quick and painless it would seem. 

“What?” 

“Your name?” Felix repeats as dully as if Sylvain had just asked him for the time. 

Sylvain eyes Felix’s fingers as they drum impatiently on the tabletop and chuckles nervously, “Come on Felix. You know my name.”

The drumming abruptly stops and for the first time all night Felix makes eye contact with Sylvain, “ _ Your name. _ ” 

Sylvain lifts his hands, “Sylvain Jose Gautier.” He pauses and when Felix doesn’t bite his head off he adds with a wink, “But you can call me V. ”

“V? Why?”

Felix’s scowl deepens but Sylvain notes with satisfaction that the disinterest is gone from his gaze. 

“I don’t know. It’s what most of my teammates have always called me. I guess it’s just because there’s a V in my name.” Admittedly he hasn’t thought that much about it. In the world of sports, one and two-syllable nicknames are gods and no one has ever accused hockey players of being too creative.

Felix lets his head fall and rest on the arm he’s propped on the table, “That’s the stupidest reason I’ve ever heard. There’s an X in my name but no one ever calls me X.” 

Sylvain tips his head, trying to catch Felix’s attention, “Do you want me to call you X?” 

Felix’s chin shoots up, his eyes narrow as he grabs the edge of the table, the entire thing shakes and water sloshes over the edge of his glass, “Try it and I think you’ll find yourself on IR for a decent chunk of the season.” 

Despite himself, Sylvain smiles, “Noted. The coach calls you Flex, doesn’t he? Would you rather me call you that?”

“Don’t you fucking dare start. He only does it because he knows I hate it.”

That seems highly unlikely Sylvain thinks but decides against pressing it. He’s never been good at picking and choosing his battles but he at least understands the concept, “So what can I call you?” 

“Felix.” 

“That’s just your name though.” 

“Yes. It is.” Felix tugs impatiently at a loose strand of his hair, “ People do often call other people by their names.” 

“Right, right, sure. But you’ve been playing hockey, what, your entire life? Surely there’s at least one hockey nickname you’ve been given that you’ll put up with.” 

“Perhaps there is. But you can call me Felix.”

Oof. That’s cold, cold enough that Sylvain can help but respect it. The fish in the tank behind Felix suddenly swarm to the glass as if they too are impressed. 

Sylvain sighs, “What else do you want to know about me?” 

Felix waits, staring off into the distance long enough for Sylvain to come up with a laundry list of things he really doesn’t want to be asked about and flimsy and deflections for a half dozen of them. 

Finally, Felix turns back to Sylvain, “What position do you play?”

Sylvain chuckles into his water glass. Now that’s something he does know how to answer without having to do any dancing. 

“Mostly left D but I’ve been known to play on the right. I guess you could say I’m flexible like that.” 

He plays on whatever side he’s needed on. He doesn’t consider himself a particularly offensive defenseman, though people often call him a puck-moving defenseman for his ability to feed the puck to the forwards in good positions. He considers himself a penalty-kill specialist but he has an unexplained pattern of finding the net when he does end up on the power-play. 

Sylvain winks. 

Felix glares, before continuing, “Where did you play before coming to Fhridiad?” 

Another easy one. For a man that Sylvain is still pretty sure hates his guts, Felix is taking it really easy with the questions, “Penn State.” 

Felix nods appreciatively, “D1. Play in juniors before that?” 

Sylvain startles slightly. It’s been a little while since anyone asked him that. When he first got to Penn State, he’d been one of exactly 3 people on the entire team coming from a prep school rather than major juniors or another college. At that point it had been very much A Thing. Something to be insecure about. But ever since then, ever since he proved himself with a powerhouse D1 team, he hasn’t really thought about it. 

But it's been long enough that it's not as much of a sore spot as it once was and so he can think about it without getting defensive. Major juniors were never really on the table for him. Even making it to Penn State had taken luck and circumstances working out in his favor almost more than his actual skill. 

But Felix had grown up in a family of athletes. A family where becoming a professional athlete was not just possible but expected. The types of people he normally hung out with were probably stars of their CHL teams at 16. Even if that hadn’t been him. Sylvain still knows a thing or two about familial expectations

“Nope. Straight from high school to college. Have my degree and everything.” 

His not quite useless degree despite what his parents might tell his friends. He worked hard to finish that degree. Harder than he really had to if he’s being honest. 

He’d gone undrafted for all of his years of eligibility. That wasn’t surprising. Sure he’d cleaned up his act since high school and he’d shown that he was good at hockey. But there were still so many people that were better at hockey than him. Kids who the scouts had been waiting for since they were 13 years old. So he’d gone undrafted and he’d assumed that that was the end of his ever so small NHL dreams and that college was the end of his hockey career. And then, the summer before his senior year, he’d been approached. By a scout for the Colorado Avalanche. They wanted him to skate at their prospects camp. They wanted to know if he’d give up his senior year of college if they wanted to sign him. 

He’d said no. It was absurd really. An undrafted player saying no he wouldn’t give up college to go pro. But he’d loved his team more than he’d loved literally anything else in his life and he was scared. So he’d say no. 

He was lucky. Lucky that his senior year they made it all the way to the Frozen Four and he’d shown the scouts that his previous season hadn’t been just a one-off or a fluke. He was lucky that the Avs asked again. College degree now in hand, he’d gone. He was lucky that at the end of camp they’d offered him an entry-level contract. 

He’s an undrafted college kid with an NHL contract. And yeah, sure, he’s in the AHL and might never make it out but he’s still damn proud of it. He gets to play hockey. 

It’s extremely brief but Sylvain swears that something akin to appreciation glimmers in Felix’s eyes. 

“Did you like it?”

“I loved it,” Sylvain answers with perhaps the single most honest thing he’s said all night. High school hockey had been great but college hockey had been better by a tenfold. It was indescribably special because for the first time, maybe ever he had felt like he was worth something. And he's so so close to feeling that again playing here. 

When Felix doesn’t immediately come up with another question, Sylvain decides it’s about time to take control of the direction of the conversation back, “Do I get to ask you anything? All I know about you so far is that you  _ don’t _ like being called Flex.”

Felix scoffs again, but the sound is less hostile now, almost amused. He shrugs, “What do you want to know?” 

Why do you hate me? Sylvain thinks. But since Felix has gone soft and easy on him here, he decides to return the favor. For now at least. Test the water before plunging the rest of his body in. They do still have to play together and as bad as these past few weeks have been Sylvain knows better than to think things can’t get worse. 

Before Sylvain says anything, the waitress returns, delivering their food with practiced elegance. They both politely thank her. 

Sylvain takes a bite of his food before asking, “Where did you play before coming here?” 

Felix stops eating and studies his own hand, suddenly finding his own knuckles extremely interesting but he answers simply, “Lulea HF, in the SHL” 

Score one for the internet. That at least his hockeydb page was right about. 

“Sweden yeah? That’s their professional league.” 

This earns him a bothered Felix eye roll, “It is, yes. It’s the S in SHL.” 

Sylvain laughs harder than is probably appropriate but there’s just something so endearing about the way Felix doesn’t miss a beat when it comes to sassing him, “So you played with the Ageless Wonder?” 

Sylvain will admit that in general his knowledge of European hockey is lacking but he for sure knows where the Ageless Wonder plays. 

A reluctant smile tugs at the edges of Felix’s mouth, “Yes. He was my captain. I lived with him and his sister for a couple of months during my second season.” 

“Really? No way! He’s one of my top player influences. I grew up rewatching that shootout sequence from that first olympics he was in like every single week.”

Seteth is perhaps The Gold Standard for shutdown defenseman on the international level and yet, as a 22-year-old he’d scored not one, not two but four goals in one shootout en route to his team winning Olympic gold. It’s insane. Then there’s the way that he’s gone from Wonder Child to Ageless Wonder. He now takes the young players on his team under his wing. And yeah, admittedly Sylvain has alienated anyone in his life that has tried to be anything resembling fatherly to him. But he likes the concept. He likes the idea of playing on the same team as his hero. And Felix lived it. 

Felix absently cracks his knuckles, “Maybe don’t bring up you grew up watching him.” 

Sylvain hums his quiet agreement. Felix’s attention begins to wander towards the window and in an attempt to hold onto it, Sylvain asks, “Did you like it? Playing in Sweden?” 

I did.” Felix doesn’t turn his head back as he answers but Sylvain notices something flicker across his face. It’s gone so quickly that Sylvain can’t place exactly what it is but he’s intrigued. There’s something about this that feels Right. Like they’re actually connecting and not just holding a civil conversation because they were ordered to. So he does what he does best, he ruins it.

“So why’d you leave?” Curiosity gets the better of Sylvain, why did he give up Sweden and the Ageless Wonder to come back and play here? Does he have his heart set on making the NHL? Did he not sign with the Panthers because he was determined to play for the same team his father and brother played for? His contract is incredibly short, only the one year but the Avs’ starting goaltender is also an Unrestricted Free Agent at the end of the year and so perhaps, this was ever meant to be a temporary situation before things get renegotiated next summer. 

Felix’s gaze snaps back to Sylvain, “None of your business.” And just like that, the moment is shattered. Connection Lost. User Not Found. Felix’s eyes have returned to steely anger and his arms are folded protectively across his chest. 

Despite Felix’s anger, Sylvain smirks slightly. So he’s struck a nerve. He mentally files this information away for later. The question remains of what to do with it. There’s a cruel voice in the back of his mind that whispers to keep prodding it. To see how far he can push until Coach’s Little Brother cracks. He’s already convinced Felix hates him, why not give him a real reason?

But that is a level of malicious that he hasn’t really acted on since high school and he’s not about to relapse after years of sobriety. Not now, not when his life just might be coming together. 

So he pushes aside the nagging voice and forces a more innocent smile, “Look. I don’t want to push you. I want us to bond at a rate that you’re comfortable but I’m also a little afraid of your brother.” 

Felix returns to chewing on his nails, “Why are you afraid of him? You’re not the one who lives with him.”

Why is he afraid? Because that’s his coach. His head coach. Quite literally one of the people with the most power in his life right now. The man who might determine someday if Sylvain has to go home to his parents as a failed hockey player and end up right back in their palm or if he gets to continue living his dream. And for some fucking reason, Sylvain’s hockey career is just tangled with this family. It was Rodrigue that scouted him out of Penn State, it’s Glenn who is his head coach and it’s Felix who is the most stubborn goaltender he’s ever played with. 

Of course, he can’t say any of that. So instead he says “So you do live with him. See that’s already another thing I didn’t know about you.” 

Before meeting this evening, Sylvain had naively assumed that Coach Fraldarius and Player Fraldarius lived their lives outside of the rink independently of each other. But then maybe he shouldn’t be so surprised, this isn’t the first time he’s forgotten some people actually like their brother. 

“Yes.” 

And just like that, only midway through their plates, they’re out of things to say to each other. 

They finish eating in silence, the minutes dragging on and on. Sylvain finds himself shoving more rice into his mouth than is probably advisable to do at once in an attempt to make this move faster. And yes, sure, he's been on more than his share of Bad Dates but normally he at least has a drink to nurse and help him through it. 

Finally, the exhausted-looking teenager returns and asks if they need anything else. Sylvain takes one look at Felix still sulking on the other side of the table and makes the executive decision that “No thank you, just the check please.” 

The check lands on the table and Sylvain reaches for it with the reflexes of someone who has long ago lost count of the number of girls he’s done this with. He’s not expecting Felix to beat him to it. 

“Hey, we’re doing this twice a week yeah? And there’s two of us? So why don’t we just make this as painless as possible and agree that one of us pays on Tuesdays and the other pays on Thursdays?” 

Felix’s grip seems to tighten, “Fine. I’ll take Tuesdays.” 

Sylvain pulls away, unable to come up with any reason that Felix shouldn’t take Tuesdays. 

Felix’s attention seems to have quickly fallen back to his phone, where he stares, mouth tight in a scowl. 

Sylvain clears his throat, “Uh, have you asked the, your- have you asked to be picked up yet?” 

Felix huffs and doesn’t lift his gaze, “I was about to.” 

“Right, yeah. I know, it’s just that I meant what I said earlier. I can give you a ride home. Really it’s no problem. It’s really windy out. I’d hate for you to be waiting outside.” 

As if on cue, the bell above the door jingles widely as a young couple burst into the restaurant, shivering as they escape out of the night air. Despite Sylvain’s expression, Felix hits send on his message and then waits silently, tapping his fingers along the edge of the table, seemingly trying to will a response to come in. 

The bell jingles again as the wind blows the door open slightly. Cold air makes its way around the corner and Sylvain pulls his jacket a little tighter. Soon it might reach storm levels of wind and he wants to make a point that he’s not leaving Felix here alone. 

Felix shoots his phone a disgusted look, “Fine. Whatever. Let’s go.” 

They make their way through the parking lot, somehow managing to avoid the worst of the slushy puddles. 

Part of Sylvain’s brain considers trying to open Felix’s door for him but the rest of him recognizes that as a Bad Plan and let’s Felix get himself situated in the passenger seat. 

“So, where do you live?” 

“I’ll text you my address.” 

It only takes a couple of seconds for the notification to come flying in and Sylvain examines the address on his phone’s map. It’s on the exact opposite side of the rink from his apartment building, in a part of the area that in the year or so that he’s lived here, Sylvain hasn’t actually really ventured into. If it were up to him, he probably wouldn’t make his first trip there after dark on a windy night but he’s made a promise. And on the bright side, if he does manage to get them horribly lost, that’s just bonus bonding time they can tell coach about. 

Someone’s optimism is rubbing off on him, which is odd because Sylvain doesn’t really think he spends a whole lot of time with people that have optimism to spare. 

Most of the ride passes in silence, Sylvain using the majority of his attention to just focus on the bends of the road in front of him and not kill the both of them, but in the otherwise dark car, it’s impossible not to see that Felix’s face has melted into an affectionate smile as he frantically types. Who could he be chatting with? It seems unlikely to be his brother. As far as Sylvain can tell, Felix isn’t exactly buddy-buddy with any other members of their team. So that means it must be someone else entirely. A former teammate? A non hockey related friend? But friend or more than friends? 

The burning desire to know more distracts Sylvain just enough that he presses on the brake just a little too suddenly, bringing them to a rather jolting stop. He braces himself for some snide remark on his driving skills but Felix simply puts his phone down and remains silent. 

“Are you nervous about the game tomorrow?” 

He is. It feels so different this year, the eve of their first real game. Last year as a rookie he’d just wanted to make it through the game. Of course, he’d been high sticked and then cross-checked about 17 seconds into his first shift which had brought his first professional hockey game to a very early end so on that account he had failed. But after that, it was about proving that he was AHL worthy. And he’d done it, by the end of the season, he was playing first pair minutes as a rookie. 

But now that means there are expectations. People expect him to be able to perform at that level. To be a valuable asset to the team. And by god, he wants nothing more than to live up to those expectations but he still doesn’t even know if his goalie can stand him. 

Have they done enough? 

Felix’s forehead rests against the window glass as he chews on his lip, “I guess.” He says but before Sylvain can ask him what that means, he points out the window at an illuminated house. “You can let me out here.” Sylvain obediently pulls over and gazes at the large house looming above. “Good night Sylvain.”

And with that, he’s gone and Sylvain finds himself saying to the wind “Good night, Felix.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! 
> 
> Next time! The aftermath (physical and mental) of the first game. Felix says that he's not doing to talk about the injury that resulted in him moving to Sweden and then immediately tells the entire story about the injury that resulted in him moving to Sweden.


	3. Week 1, Session 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felix is less than pleased after the Lions lose their first game of the season.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, I hope you all are well!  
> It's been a week and I already really miss sports. My take-home finals are killing me but I realized this chapter was close enough to done that I had the time to finish it and get it up. I don't know why the chapters are continually getting longer, please kill me. 
> 
> Warning, there is conversation about semi-serious injuries (nothing permanent but just more serious than your typical sprain or strain) in this chapter (concussion and spinal injury), none of it is particularly graphic but it is definitely more present than in the previous chapters. Everyone's injury experience is different and this is mostly based on my own experiences so I'm not trying to say this is How It Is, it's just kinda how I remember things being.

##  **_WED OCTOBER 4 FHIRDIAD LIONS VS STOCKTON HEAT (2-5 L)_ **

  
  


##  **_THUR OCTOBER 5, WEEK 1 SESSION 2_ **

As a general rule, the only place Felix ever shows up early is the rink on game days. He doesn’t like waiting around for people. He comes and goes when he pleases and doesn’t believe in creating his schedule around other people. He’ll get there when he gets there. 

But Glenn is in a mood. And as much as Glenn 2.0 freaks Felix out, these moments of Original Glenn aren’t exactly the most enjoyable to live with either. 

Honestly, Felix isn’t sure why he lives with Glenn. The only reason he ever agreed to this living arrangement in the first place is when Glenn ambushed him in Sweden he’d begged not just for Felix to come play for the Lions but also live with him because he couldn’t be alone with their father. Which is complete bullshit because it’s been over a month since Felix has come back and he can count the number of times he’s been under the same roof as his father on one hand.

So anyway, Glenn is in a mood and admittedly Felix is in a mood too. No one has ever accused either of them of being good losers. 

As a goalie and a coach, this loss is going to stick with them far longer than it sticks with anyone else. Skaters aren’t measured in wins and losses, no, they’re measured in ice time, in goals, assists, penalty minutes, faceoff percentage, plus/minus, Corsi, and a million other statistics. More stats than pretty much anyone can name and yet nowhere on a skater’s stat card will you find their number of wins and losses. In fact, on paper, sometimes it’s hard to tell a really good player on a bad team from a bad player on a really good team. 

That’s not the case for goalies. Sure they have their save percentage and goals-against-average but right next to them is wins, losses, and overtime losses. Their record is there. Always. And you can’t un-lose a game that’s been lost. You can talk all you want about mental resilience and the ability to move on and play your best after a loss but ultimately, if you lose a game, there is nothing you can do to get rid of it. 

It’s just as true for coaches. Maybe more so. The only number anyone cares about when it comes to coaches is their record. 

Felix knows that people wrote about them. About him and his brother, together for the first time. Felix’s first professional game in North America and Glenn’s first game as a coach. Everyone’s expectations were high. Too high apparently because all they have to show for it is an L. 

Well, an L and a Mood. 

In a half-hearted attempt to burn off some of his Mood, Felix from 90 minutes ago decided it would be a good idea to forgo asking Glenn for a ride to dinner and instead elected to walk the entire 3.84 miles from his house to Marissa’s Cafe. 

So here he is. Twenty-five minutes early. “Fanfuckingtastic,” he mutters to himself as he lowers himself to the concrete steps. Fuck. He’s only played one real game with this team and his body feels like it’s aged 100 years. He’s tired. 

He stares up at the clouds. Despite the fact that it snowed for 2 days straight not a week ago, the sky is now clear blue with only a handful of scattered cotton ball clouds. October weather is dumb like that. 

Despite not being cold at all, he burrows deeper into his father’s jacket. It’s big and warm and still smells like his childhood. If anyone asks, he grabbed it from the coat closet completely on accident. But perhaps Felix’s favorite part of constantly being the younger and smallest person in the household has always been that it allows him to be a filthy little clothing thief and there’s nothing anyone can do to stop him.

He stays here, making an honest attempt to think about anything that isn’t the loss when a shadow crosses over his face. 

Felix groans before realizing that, actually, it isn’t a shadow but an actual man starring down at him. He squints against the offensively bright sky and realizes that it isn’t just a man, it’s his dinner partner. He groans louder.

“You alright down there?” Sylvain’s smile is just as head-splitting bright as always but his brow is furrowed as he offers Felix a hand up. 

Felix pointedly doesn’t take it and pulls himself up on the cold metal handrail, “I’m fine.” 

“You got a little uh-” Sylvain trains off as he reaches over to brush dirt clinging to the shoulder of Felix’s, or-er, his father’s jacket. 

Felix swats his hand away, “I got it.” 

“Sorry,” Sylvain pulls his hands back into his chest, “So are you ready to head in?” 

Felix checks in watch and can’t help but startle. Shit. He really did just stare at the clouds for more than 20 minutes, “After you.” 

As he trails after Sylvain, Felix keeps his attention trained down. Down at the ground but also down at Sylvain’s legs in front of him. There’s something off. His gait is wrong.

Honestly, Felix isn’t sure when he became familiar enough with Sylvain’s gait to know what it’s supposed to look like but he’s 100% confident that it’s off. Finally, Felix decides it’s a limp, a limp favoring his right leg though it’s so slight that it barely qualifies. Nothing to indicate a sprain or anything worse. 

A limp in of itself isn’t that interesting. They’re athletes. They’re hockey players. There are a million reasons that their bodies hurt. But Felix has a feeling he knows exactly what caused this and he’s less than pleased to be reminded of it. 

Despite the irritation drumming in his chest, he keeps his mouth firmly shut, letting himself be led to a seat in a cozy booth under a window sill almost overflowing with potted plants. 

The waiter fills their water glasses and leaves them with a heaping basket of steaming bread rolls. 

It’s Sylvain who breaks the silence first, closing his menu with a smile, “Can I ask what’s so interesting about my legs?” 

So he did notice Felix staring. Interesting. 

Felix tears his roll in half with a great deal of unnecessary force. “You were limping.” 

“I was?” Genuine surprise spreads across Sylvain’s face and a hand automatically goes to rest on his leg. 

“Yes. Favoring your right side.” Felix pauses, “It doesn’t hurt?” 

“No?” Sylvain says though it comes out more as a question than a statement. 

“Didn’t you ice it after the game last night?” Felix remembers nearly crashing into Sylvain has he exited the training office, a dripping bag of ice wrapped to his lower leg. 

“Oh! Right. I totally forgot about that. For the blocked shots.” 

“The blocked shots yes.” Felix forms a fist around his salad fork and he stabs absently at the uneven wood of the tabletop. 

Sylvain stifles a bemused chuckle, “What did the table ever do to you?” 

Felix squeezes his eyes shut and searches for some lost shred of patience. He comes up empty. “Do you even think?” 

The smile vanishes from his face as Sylvain narrows his eyes, “Yes.” 

The fork clatters to the table, “Do you even think before you drop to block a shot?” 

Sylvain’s head tips ever so slightly. “No.” He admits. “It’s literally just instinct. It’s the moment when everything else has failed and so you’re just giving up your body in the hopes that something works.” 

“But that’s not really your job is it? Do you think, do you ever think about how sometimes the things you do make my job harder? The job that I am equipped to do. Stop shots.” 

“Yeah. I do. I’m not going out of my way to make your life difficult. If I could leave you a clear view of every shot and still do my job, I would. But I can’t. I’m sorry.” 

Felix searches Sylvain’s expression for a punchline. For any hint of insincerity. For anything that contradicts the remarkable well put response that he had just made. Sylvain’s expression remains serious and Felix comes up empty, “Huh.” 

“What?” Sylvain frowns. 

Felix turns his attention to the table, unwilling to look anywhere in the vicinity of Sylvain’s eyes as he says “You’re more self-aware than I gave you credit for.” 

Sylvain chokes on a laugh, “It sounds like you’re complimenting me and yet it feels like an insult.” 

Felix snorts. It’s oddly fitting. In fact, perhaps that was what he was trying to do. 

The waiter returns and Felix silently groans. He’s never been much of a multitasker. He sets his mind to one thing and one thing only and he’s pretty good at it. Even just the task of holding conversation zaps him of hunger. 

But it’s dinner at a cafe, he just has to eat food. He can manage. 

Sylvain seems unbothered as he orders a salmon sandwich. 

Once the waiter vanishes, Sylvain’s attention turns back to Felix, “You’re still thinking about the game from last night aren’t you?” 

Felix lets his glass thunk against the table, “What makes you say that?” 

“I know I am. Look I know losing isn’t fun-” 

Sylvain hesitates just long enough for Felix to cut in, “I’ve been playing professional hockey a lot longer than you have. I don’t need your ‘losing gets easier’ comfort speech.” 

Sylvain raises both hands, flashing his open palms in mock surrender, “I don’t doubt that. I’m just saying that it sucks to be a goalie or defenseman on a team that’s rebuilding. Forwards get noticed when they’re doing something right. We get the most attention on us when things are going wrong. If we’re doing our jobs really well people basically forget we’re even doing it.” 

“God, I can’t stand forwards.” It’s an oversimplification to be sure but irritatingly enough Sylvain had hit the nail right on the head. Being a goalie, being a defenseman is often a messy, thankless job. Something he’s heard time and time again is if you face 100 shots and stop 99 of them, people will still ask about the one that went in. Why is Sylvain of all people acting understanding of this? 

“I used to be a center,” Sylvain says after a pause. 

Felix scoffs. Figures. “If you’re expecting an apology, you’re not getting one.”

Sylvain laughs, “No, no, I get it. I like defense a whole lot more.” He waves with his left hand that now grips his steak knife.

“Huh. I would have thought someone as flashy as you would have enjoyed the spotlight of being a goal-scoring machine over the subtlety of defense. Figured that you’d get sick of not being noticed for scoring pretty goals.” 

Sylvain spends a solid 15 seconds chewing on his roll in silence before tipping his head and asking with a bemused smile, “What makes you think I’m flashy?” 

“You’re not the only one who knows how to look people up. I know what you’re like. Also, you’re wearing a ten thousand dollar watch right now.”

It had been a quick search. It wasn’t like he was expecting to find prime blackmail material but Felix has to admit that he was slightly disappointed to find that the only vaguely interesting things about Sylvain Gautier apart from basic stats that turned up were (a) his father is a hotshot politician in New York and (b) he seems to have a clinical inability to commit to any kind of actual relationship. 

“Touche. But no. I love defense. Shutting down the other team’s top line? So fucking satisfying. Centers, in particular, think they deserve goals and being able to turn that ship around? I live for it.” 

Felix takes a moment to just watch Sylvain. It’s the first time, maybe since they’ve met that he’s seen Sylvain talk about anything with genuine passion and enthusiasm. It’s almost endearing. 

“You know,” Felix says softly, “You think kind of like a goalie.’ 

“Oh? Really?” He does his best to hide behind his water glass but the color on his cheeks is still visible and Felix can say without a doubt that this is the closest to flustered that he’s ever seen Sylvain. “I suppose that kind of makes sense.” 

“We have the same goals after all,” Felix admits. 

“Literally,” Sylvain adds with a grin, “Cuz, you know, we’re defending the same....goal” He trails off, still looking entirely too pleased with himself. 

“I will end you,” warns Felix.

“Sorry, sorry. I mean, we’re like a unit. A team within the team if you will.” 

Felix muses on this for a moment, “An anti forward team.” 

Sylvain hums a contemplative note as hints of a frown return to his face, “I mean I suppose. I have nothing personally against them. I like the forwards on my team well enough. I just think defense is better.” 

Felix sighs, “Yeah, well. I do think of it personally. I’m against all forwards. My teammates included.” 

“All of them?” Sylvain asks a note of challenge slipping into his voice. 

Felix hesitates, “I might make an exception for Ashe. He at least has the common sense to get back and the speed to it with. The rest of them I don’t give a fuck about.” 

Over the years, Felix has had a complex relationship with the concept of the ‘two-way forward’. In concept it’s great. In theory, it’s great. Someone who can score goals and have defensive responsibility. But Felix has found that you actually have to be really good at being a two-way forward for it to actually be effective. Otherwise, you’re just a forward scoring fewer goals and an extra body in the way defensively. 

But Ashe at least has the skill and intelligence to be significantly less annoying to play with many he’s encountered before. And yeah sure, that can-do attitude personality will probably also be his downfall someday but for right now it’s what’s helping him prove he deserves this opportunity. 

“I guess I get where you’re coming from. But after last season I’m just saying, it is nice to know that we actually have forwards who know how to score. I mean as defensemen we can do it but it’s nice to not have to do everything.” 

“You’re referring to Dimitri?” Felix asks stiffly. Memories of the previous night’s game flow through his mind. The sound of the home crowd roar victoriously as their new superstar netted not one but two beautiful goals in his debut, travels through Felix’s entire body, his hands shaking ever so slightly. All he had done in his debut was earn the Lions their first loss of the season. 

“He’s good.” 

“Yes. And he’s holding back.”

Sylvain frowns, “Holding back? What makes you say that?” 

“Call it a gut feeling. He’s good but he could be even better. If he actually wanted to, he could be in the NHL by now. The only thing holding himself back is himself.” The question of if Dimitri is even aware that he’s doing it is another thing entirely. And yes, Felix knows Glenn is trying to point out the same qualities in himself. But he’s never really been one for self-reflection.

“Oh right. Your fathers played together for the Avs huh?” Sylvain’s tone is so casual he might have said they were teammates on a JV football team in high school.

“Yeah. Won two cups.” Despite his complex, negative leaning feelings towards his father, Felix has found it’s impossible to not be proud of him. Winning the Stanley Cup once is the dream of young hockey players everywhere. But to do it twice in consecutive years is something truly extraordinary. And they’d done it dramatically and spectacularly. 

There’s a reason that 8 and 71 hang in the rafters of the Pepsi center and it’s not just because of Lambert’s death. As Captain and Alternate they’d been the backbone of the entire Avalanche team. They were icons. 

Felix was only four when Lambert and Rodrigue won their second cup but Felix swears he remembers his father’s cup-winning goal. Game 7, double OT, do or die time. Casual fans called it a fluke, a lucky shot but serious hockey fans knew better. Rodrigue Fraldarius never did anything on accident and that’s what earned him the Conn Smythe.

The left side of Sylvain’s mouth folds up in a smile, “That they did. I suppose it makes sense that you two would be friends or something.”

For the first time, it really hits Felix that Sylvain didn’t grow up in Colorado. Wasn’t born and raised to be an Avs fan. He’s used to people thinking of his father as a hero to their people. But of course one doesn’t achieve great success without also making a few enemies along the way. 

“I would probably say ‘Or something’. We haven’t spoken in years. Now we’re back on the same team and I still don’t have much to say to him. Though he is a big part of the reason I moved to Sweden so I guess I could thank him for that.” 

There had been a time, even after things had kind of gone to hell that he and Dimitri still texted weekly, and then monthly and then Felix moved to Sweden and didn’t bother giving Dimitri his new number and that had been that. He sighs, three years of communicating entirely through stunts that land them in the news has brought them here. To aggressively avoiding each other in an AHL locker room. 

Sylvain drums his fingers along the table but unlike Felix who has been saddled with the habit for as long as he remembers, Sylvain does the action slowly and deliberately, a call for Felix’s attention. Felix begrudgingly hands it over and satisfies Sylvain says, “Seems like there’s a story there.” 

Laughter pushes its way out of Felix’s chest, “Oh there is.” 

“Want to tell it?” Sylvain tips his head and there’s something that resembles genuine interest on his face. It eats at Felix’s insides. 

No. His mind automatically says. No. He doesn’t want to ever tell anyone about anything ever. That’s how it’s always been. He certainly doesn’t want to talk about this. The thing that kinda sorta maybe ruined parts of his life. But then again, he does. He wants to get it out of him. To hear it said to another living breathing human person. He told parts of it to Seteth and that had been liberating in a way he never could have expected. He wants to. 

“I don’t know you,” he finally says, because that is perhaps the only thing that he’s certain of.

“Okay. That’s fair. You don’t,” Sylvain agrees, “But maybe that makes it easier.” 

“Huh?” 

“It’s hard to talk to people you know. Doubly, triply hard to talk to people you care about. But like you said, we don’t know each other. And, no offense Felix but I’m not emotionally invested in your personal well being yet. You don’t have to worry about hurting my feelings or changing my long formed opinion of you because, well I don’t have one. I’m purely driven by curiosity and the desire to learn more. You have the power. Tell me the parts you want me to know and don’t tell me the parts you don’t want me to know.”

Felix stares. The smile has vanished from Sylvain’s face but he remains almost eerily calm, peaceful even as he sits, finished rattling through his explanation. 

Felix has never claimed to be an expert at reading other people’s emotions, he relies more on vague feelings and instincts than he cares to admit. But looking at Sylvain, it’s like looking at a plate slate, there’s nothing. Nothing at all to indicate if this is real, if this is genuine or if he’s just being played like a doll on strings. Sylvain’s head is cocked to the side, his attention seemingly already on something else entirely. 

The waiter delivers a welcome distraction in the form of their meal. 

Felix stares down at his plate and tries to force his one-track mind to switch from thinking about his past into eating. The chicken is moist but for some reason chewing it is like trying to swallow sawdust.

Fuck. His mind really is doing this. 

It’s terrifying and yet, and yet words start slipping out of Felix’s mouth. “Uh. Hypothetically if I did decide I wanted to tell you. Everything said here stays between us right?” 

“Of course. I can keep a secret.” Sylvain punctuates this with a practiced wink. 

“You know that isn’t actually reassuring right?” 

Sylvain’s hand fold in a pleading gesture and he leans forward against the table, “Come on. We’re supposed to be getting to know each other after all.” 

That they are. 

Felix takes a breath and tries to ignore the way it shakes, “Dimitri and I used to be friends. Actually we... when his parents died he moved in with my family. We were about 13, my father had retired from playing, Glenn had already been drafted.” 

Sylvain hums in acknowledgment, “I take it something happened?” 

“What makes you say that?” 

Sylvain hesitates. It’s brief, only a fraction of a second but it catches Felix’s attention. He’s never seen Sylvain do that before. Every sentence is always irritatingly confident. But before he can think about it, Sylvain’s brushed aside whatever doubt crept in. “Look I don’t exactly get along with my brother and I’ve done some crazy things to get away from him but I didn’t move to a different country.”

Oh. Somehow it hadn’t crossed Felix’s mind until now that Sylvain could have a brother of his own. Is it important knowledge? Should he ask about it now? Later? He pushes the thoughts away.

“Well, something did happen. You can look it up if you’re so interested. I’m sure there’s a video on the internet somewhere.” 

In fact, Felix knows for sure that there’s video of it on the internet because not 8 months ago he came across it entirely on accident and spent the rest of the day hidden under his covers trying very hard to not relive the moment over and over and over again. 

“I could,” Sylvain agrees with a click of his tongue, “but I’d rather hear it from you.” 

Bullshit, Felix’s instincts call. Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit. Actually, Sylvain has probably already watched the video and knows exactly what happened and is waiting to see if Felix is going to lie to his face.

But also. But also, he doesn’t remember the last time someone actually said that. That they wanted to hear it from him. In his own words. And well, Sylvain made a good point, he might as well try and control the narrative as much as possible. 

“We were 15. Playing in a future prospects game.” Felix hears how choppy his sentences are but doesn’t have the mental energy to do anything about it. For his part, Sylvain remains silently engaged as Felix speaks, “We’d ended up on different teams for the showcase. It was the final game, my team was up 1-0. Dimitri was pissed, maybe we knew each other too well but he couldn’t buy himself a goal all game. But he got on a breakaway, caught my team on a bad change and he was racing in, one on goalie. To this day I don’t know if he thought I’d move or if he tried to brake, but it doesn’t really matter what he _meant_ to do when what he did do is barrel straight into me at full speed.”

Felix’s breath catches and pain shoots through his throat as he remembers. Remembers not having a thought in head besides that there was no way in hell he was going to let Dimitri score. They’d gone up against each other before, they’d even collided before and nothing besides bruises had ever happened. They’d had no way of knowing it would be any different. But it was. Oh, it was.

“Ouch.” Sylvain’s voice is so low it’s barely above a rumble. 

“Yeah. Well I actually don’t remember most of the details. My mask was knocked off before I hit the ice. Mouthguard wasn’t going to be enough to prevent a concussion there.” 

In complete honesty, Felix isn’t sure how much of his jumbled memory is a result of the concussion and how much is due to him actually not wanting to remember. But either way, the memories of the moments after the impact are just jumbled messes of bright colors and lights and panicked voices. He vaguely recalls crying but he can’t exactly say when or why. 

He’s heard the story, time and time again told by his father, his brother, his coach, his teammates, even from strangers who saw it go down. Each one tells it slightly differently, the events colored by their own personal perspective. The real truth, the truest truth is perhaps lost forever. 

“Oh.” Sylvain manages around a hollow chuckle. 

From some great power beyond, Felix summons the courage to continue and opens his mouth, “I also twisted and landed in a way that damaged my spine. I don’t remember it happening but apparently when the trainers first reached me I didn’t have sensation in any of my limbs. I guess by the time they got me on the stretcher I was talking more coherently and at least had sensation back in both arms.” 

Almost automatically, Felix slowly tests each of his limbs. Both arms and both legs obediently respond. No tingling, no pain, even the jumbled memory fades. 

Sylvain exhales through his teeth, “But, but you're okay now?” 

Felix frowns. It’s an odd question to answer. Does Sylvain mean physically? He’s seen Felix play. Knows he can play at least. Sure there are bad days after he practices too long for doesn’t cool down properly, days where he's in almost as much pain as he was before all of the PT. But worse than those are the days where he does do everything right and he’s still in pain for no reason. But he can play and that means he’s okay. Or does Sylvain mean mentally? That’s still a giant question mark of sorts. He settles for a casual shrug and “I mean sure. It took months of rehab. Took a season off from playing entirely but I’m here.” 

“That’s good.” 

Before Felix has the chance to look away, Sylvain’s eyes find his and they lock for a fraction of a second. Desperate to move the conversation along, Felix adds, “Dimitri got hurt too. Broke his arm. Needed a pin to put it back. But by the next season, he was able to play. It didn’t really hurt his career long term. Not physically at least.” 

Sylvain nods, “So you went to Sweden.” 

It’s funny to think of it that simply. It had been an ultimatum really. He either had to go all-in or fold. There was no room for toeing the line. It was his father who had sat down with him and said “It’s your choice Felix, give up now and for the first time in your life you can be a normal kid. Learn to drive, go to prom, do all the things that teenagers your age are doing and put hockey behind you. Or, do the rehab, work twice as hard as you did before to _maybe_ get to the point you were at.” 

He hadn't liked either option. He had no interest in being normal. In doing things that other teens take joy in, where was the good in giving up? But on the other hand, while he had nothing against working extra hard, he also knew that in North America people would be watching, waiting to see if he failed or not. Waiting to see if he’d be branded a tragedy and join the ranks of players whose careers ended before they even began. 

He hadn’t wanted either of those and so he’d done his best to cut a third option.

Felix shifts his weight so far forward the back legs of his chair lift off the ground, “My brother was playing in the NHL, my best friend was on his way to being a top-ranked prospect.” He shifts, the chair nearly tipping all the way over, “I was mad. I _am_ mad. I needed an out. It was just an accident that it ended up being the SHL.”

A loud crack sounds as Sylvain tips his neck in the other direction, “Look, I get it. Sometimes life just throws us a bone when we happen to need it.” 

Felix shivers, “Maybe don’t use the word _bone_ in this case.” 

Sylvain’s eyes go wide, “Fair enough.” 

Silence falls and Felix stares blankly at his empty plate. Finally, he mutters, almost as an afterthought, “I know I probably shouldn’t still be mad at him for something that happened half a decade ago.” 

Sylvain reaches out with his right hand but falls short of actually placing it on Felix’s elbow, “Hey, you’re human. Believe me, I know plenty of people who have held pettier grudges. Though this might be horribly insensitive, but, isn’t it better to be on a team with him? You don’t have to worry about facing him again. He’s less likely to hurt you if you’re teammates yeah?” 

Which, fair enough. Felix has heard this point before. Heard it from Glenn, from his father, from his coaches and physical therapist. It always makes sense when they say it. He understands what they’re saying on a logical level but still, that doesn’t change what he feels. 

He shakes his head, struggling to find the right words, “I think. I think I’m not even mad about the injury anymore. I’ve been hurt before, I’ll be hurt again. It happens. What I’m still mad about is that he made me scared of what I do.” 

“Scared?” 

“I don’t know if you noticed but I’m short for a goalie. Last year in the NHL there were two starting goaltenders who were under 6’2” and they were both 6’1”. In order to be at all competitive with people like that, I have to be more aggressive. I don’t have the privilege of being scared. And I wasn’t. I was never afraid of other players until Dimitri almost paralyzed me. He planted a seed of doubt in my mind that makes me hesitate. A moment of hesitation that years of training and coaching haven’t been able to remove. He did that.” 

For his whole life, Felix has wanted to be a goalie. And he’d been good at it. He’d been damn good at it and in a single moment, Dimitri had changed everything about how Felix sees himself as a player. 

He still remembers the first time he’d noticed something was wrong. It had just been practice, a friendly scrimmage when a puck had soared over his outstretched glove and into the net. It had been a good shot, equally well placed and well-timed and so no one questioned him failing to make the save. But he had felt it. He’d felt his body pull back when previously it would have charged fearlessly onward. His mind was protecting his body from harm on a level he wasn’t even consciously controlling. It was both hesitation and panic. 

It had been bad enough the first time it happened but it was nothing compared to the devastation of it happening a second, then third time. Three times made a proven pattern. He was no longer the player he once was. He’d maintained his composure through the remainder of that practice but the moment he got home he’d locked himself in his room and sobbed himself sick. 

“Now you’re on a team together.” Sylvain’s eyes are narrowed as he carefully gazes just to the left of where Felix sits. 

“Not by choice. God, I don’t know why I told you that.” Felix’s chest feels oddly both extremely light and unbearably heavy and he wants nothing more than to just crawl under the table. 

“I’m glad you did,” Sylvain says, his left hand closing over the check the waiter left. And though there’s nothing exactly remarkable about the way he says it, it feels genuine. Actually genuine. 

Felix brings his scowl back, “Why? So you can look at me like I’m a kicked puppy?” 

“No.” Sylvain’s hand hovers over Felix’s elbow again but once again settles for putting it on the table, “We’re supposed to be getting to know each other yeah?”

“You really think hearing that story will help us play better?” Felix asks, “I could have made it all up for all you know.” 

Sylvain smiles, “I mean you could have yeah. And I can’t say for sure. But I don’t think it’ll hurt.” 

Felix lets the legs of his chair slam back down to the floor, “It better not. If you start being weird around me I’ll....” 

“You’ll what?” Sylvain challenges with a raised eyebrow.

Felix focuses his glare, “I’ll think of something.” 

“I don’t doubt it.” Sylvain replies cheerfully. 

“Fuck you.” 

Sylvain considers the glass in his hand, “Now now, that’s not a very nice thing to say to someone who is about to offer you a ride.” 

“I’m not nice.” Felix shoots back. 

“Do you need a ride?” 

Felix stares down at his phone, admittedly his Mood has lessened since getting food in him and spilling his story but he doesn’t want to push his look too far and find out that Glenn’s hasn’t, “...Yes.” 

Sylvain’s victorious chuckle doesn’t go unnoticed by Felix, who graciously elects not to make a scene in the middle of the cafe.

As they stand to leave, Sylvain rests a casual arm around Felix’s shoulders, “Well it’s a good thing I am nice then. Come on.” 

Felix pushes the arm off, “I doubt that.” 

“Yeah yeah, come on.” 

“You know what Felix? I have a really good feeling about these coming games.” 

“Whatever,” Felix replies as he climbs into the car.

He wants to disagree. Wants to say that they're just as bad off as they were before that this changes nothing. Except, except he feels it too. They've already loosened up around each other. The knot in his chest has already softened its grip on him. And yes, they lost and yes Felix hates losing more than he hates almost anything else but at the end of the night, he can't deny that their play was already changing for the better. 

If they're right. If they're right about this, maybe just maybe good things could be coming. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you as always for reading!  
> I'm thinking, starting next week updates will be Fridays instead of Thursday because I'm not sure what compelled me to pick Thursday but we'll see what happens when we get closer. 
> 
> Anyway, next time: It takes some time but the Lions finally win A Game and Sylvain is ready to celebrate. 
> 
> Additionally, I have seen multiple comments from people who say they know nothing about hockey. I am absolutely thrilled that people are enjoying it and I am doing my best to make sure that no knowledge is needed, I have decided to put together a quick document with some basic hockey information. You absolutely do not Have to read any of this.  
> If you have questions about anything or just are curious you can check it out, I will probably continue updating it as things go along. Feel free to leave comments on the document or here for clarification or if something is missing that you want to know. If you do know hockey, please don't kill me for oversimplifying or skipping things.  
> Here: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1MePl2ch_XuicvNufWQuuAY12xuRfGR13oY3_vepuXas/edit?usp=drive_web&ouid=104193269496112010954
> 
> Oh! One more thing, I've decided to start adding links to articles about hockey that are vaguely to the chapter that you can read if you so choose but of course are not actually of any importance. This week's is about goalies and concussions but I promise that in the future they will be more fun! https://apnews.com/dca05dd0915f43dcb8ef40f24fd99e7e


	4. Week 2, Session 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Lions win A Game, Sylvain is happy with this and just maybe Felix is too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I know last week I said that I would be changing updates to Fridays but here I am on Sunday night because I am a Fool. This week is my first week of spring quarter classes so we'll see what actually happens but I aim to move back to Friday or Saturday. But really I'm just a wildcard now so who knows what I'll actually do next. 
> 
> This isn't my Favorite chapter but they never are when it comes time for posting so c'est la vie I guess. 
> 
> Small self-plug but if you're looking for something Entirely Different, last Monday I released an Ashe-centric vigilante AU one-shot so, yeah that's a thing. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you are all doing well in these times and thank you for sticking with me!
> 
> Also, one more thing;  
> My girlfriend: hey Lia did you pick Stockton as the team for the Lions to drop their first two games too because the Lions are bad in the *Heat*  
> Me: ... Oh. Right. Yeah that's *totally* something I did on purpose and didn't just happen because I was mostly ripping this schedule from the Eagles actual season.

##  **_SATURDAY OCTOBER 7 FHIRDIAD LIONS @_** ** _STOCKTON HEAT_** ** _(2-3) L_** ****

##  **_MONDAY OCTOBER 9_** ** _FHIRDIAD LIONS VS_** ** _ONTARIO REIGN (4-3) W_**

##  **_TUESDAY OCTOBER 10, WEEK 2 SESSION 1_ **

Sylvain rocks back and forth between the front and back legs of his chair humming contentedly. He’s not normally a hummer but he’ll always make an exception for Bruce Springsteen. 

The seat across the table from him remains empty, Felix having just shot him an ‘on the way, running late’ text. At least for once, Sylvain is feeling patient. He’s not in any hurry to leave this moment. 

His limbs are tired, fatigued after a short but effective afternoon practice but he’s still drumming with enough energy that he’s confident he could lift a burning truck should it come to that. 

Not that he thinks it will. And it would be a pity too because that would result in him ruining this brand new blazer that he dropped a pretty penny on. It’s a shiny black color in a sharp, smart, elegant cut that Ingrid says is fitting of a supervillain but Dorothea says looks sophisticated. She did, however, convince him to forego the matching tie to keep from being too overdressed. 

Anyway, he feels good and he looks good and they have a win under their belt and surely that bodes well for the conversation to come. 

He spots Felix the moment he walks in the door, “Hey!” He calls, waving in an attempt to get the goaltender's attention. 

Felix freezes, a deer in the headlights and somewhere to Sylvain’s left a pretty blonde glances up with interest. Felix ducks, hiding his face behind a lifted arm. 

Felix makes his way over but instead of picking up the menu sitting neatly at his place setting, he stares intently at Sylvain’s face. 

Sylvain stares back studying. It’s clear Felix is concentrating. Despite being a man of many talents, Sylvain has picked up that subtly is not one of Felix’s strengths. So he’s concentrating, but on what? He’s lacking the scowl that he had when he was calling Sylvain out for the limp he didn’t even notice he had.

In fact, if Sylvain has to make a wild guess, the expression it seems closest to, is amusement, “Uh. What’s going on? Pretty sure there’s nothing going on with my face.”

Sylvain is a big enough person to admit that yes, he thinks he’s an attractive individual. And it’s not like he just had half his mouth bashed in with a puck or anything. Some day there will probably come a day where he’ll be hit and he’ll miss the protection of the full cage from college but until then he’s embracing the freedom of the visor. 

Felix looks away and it’s hard to tell in the inconsistent lighting but color might rise on his cheeks, “Hi.” He mutters before gesturing vaguely and adding, “You’re in an uncharacteristically good mood.” 

Sylvain shuts his own menu and laughs. He is in a good mood. Things, things are good. He’s happy with how his play is trending. He’s happy with his team. He’s happy to get out of his apartment to have dinner and chat. They’re only starting week two of this coach’s assignment and Sylvain is already so much happier to be here than he was before. What is surprising is that it’s apparently noticeable. 

“Hey now, I am always in a good mood.” 

Felix rolls his eyes more dramatically than is strictly necessary, “That’s just blatantly untrue. I’ve seen you at morning meetings.” 

Sylvain chuckles again. He’s never been a morning person. He totally wrecked his sleep schedule in high school and even after four years of suffering through morning classes and practices in college, he’s still not able to be quite as lighthearted at morning meetings as perhaps he is throughout the rest of the day. 

“That’s because there is literally no need for morning meetings to be that early.” He concedes. But unwilling to be all give and no take adds with a wink, “But I’m always in a good mood when I see you.” 

This time the color on his cheeks is obvious and Felix opens his menu as a shield, “That’s also untrue but alright.” 

Sylvain places both elbows on the table and leans forward, “Are you blushing?” He teases. 

“Shut up.” Felix hisses through gritted teeth as he ducks even further behind his menu shield. Even with his teeth bared, he’s not half as intimidating as he is during games. Without his pads, and only a long navy coat for protection and not a hockey stick in sight, Felix’s aggression is more kitten than rather than lion. 

Sylvain sits back in his seat, “Don’t worry, it’s endearing.” His grin is broad and warmth spreads all the way from his face to his chest. 

Felix lowers the menu enough to look over it, “Don’t call me endearing.” 

He fixes Sylvain with what is probably supposed to be a glare but comes across closer to a pout.

Still half laughing, Sylvain lifts both hands in mock surrender. Because honestly? He’s already won. Just a week ago, Felix wouldn’t engage in conversation with him even with Sylvain constantly needling him in the side. Now, no matter how annoyed he acts, it’s miles better than straight-up ignoring him.

As a teammate, Sylvain can work with this. It’s seemingly undeniable proof that they’re trending in the right direction. They already have a win to show for it. 

A waiter comes and takes their order and Sylvain’s waters just at the thought of a well prepared nice piece of meat. Even Felix can’t contain his grin as a young lady skillfully maneuvers past their table, trays of steaming food balanced on her hands. 

“So, what did you do after the game last night?”

There is literally no part of Sylvain that expects to find out that Felix has secretly been a party animal this entire time and that he went Hard after the win but also there was cause for celebration and that had to mean something to a household consisting of a starting goaltender and a brand new head coach right? So he asks anyway. 

It’s not like he exactly partied hard either. He’s not in college anymore, his body doesn’t bounce back after a night out like it used to.

Fuck, look at him, 24 and already acting like his body is giving out on him. 

But it’s not just the physical changes either, he’s grown up and matured since his days of doing...of well, doing things he literally doesn’t remember. For once he didn’t sabotage his own happiness by drinking himself sick or fucking someone he has no interest in ever seeing again. 

No, he’d just gone home and changed into shitty mismatched sweats and curled up with a warm meal and a singular beer and with some sweet talking, convinced Ingrid that _Good Will Hunting_ is worth an eleventh watch. Admittedly, if she nets a hatty in her next game he’s not allowed to suggest it or _Dead Poets Society_ again for the next 3 months but he’ll cross that bridge when he gets to it. 

Felix simply stares blankly at him, confusion flickering across his face before he slowly responds, “Went home? Stretched. Watched the Gulls/Barracuda game highlights.” 

Sylvain’s eyes widen. They’d watched tape from that game at the rink this morning in order to prepare for the games against San Diego tomorrow and then in San Jose on Friday. It had been his first time seeing any of the footage but Felix apparently went out of his way to watch the highlights on his own ahead of time. 

He uses both hands to drag his fingers through his hair. The curls are still damp from his shower, “Are you serious? You’re telling me that you celebrated our first win of the season by going home and thinking more about hockey?” 

Felix’s confusion settles into a solid frown, “Yes? It was one game. We’re still 1-2-0 on the season, that’s under 0.500. There’s still a lot of work to do.” 

Sylvain feels frustration start to bubble in his gut. Because yes, Felix is right. Everything he says is correct. They’re still under 0.500 on the season and yes Sylvain hates that. He hates having that number haunt them. 

But also? Getting that first win was huge, he’s checked the standings, there are teams that are 0-3 and they’re 1-2. Other teams are also struggling right out the gate. But they got the win. Despite having faith in the team, Sylvain had been plagued with this fear that they would never win. That the team would be an unprecedented train wreck. That they would never win and he’d lose his job as a professional hockey player and go home to his parents as a total failure. 

And yes, so far they’ve won the one game and in the grand scheme of the full season, the one game is really not worth much but now they know it can be done. Now they’ve seen that it’s possible and they’ve tasted success, they just have to be driven enough to keep seeking it. That has to be worth something, it has to. 

“Yeah, for sure, but it’s still a milestone. It’s a long season and we’re only three games in. We started 0-2 and we’re showing that we can go up from here.” 

Felix shakes his head dismissively, “That game shouldn’t have been a one-goal game. It was sloppy and inconsistent play that allowed the Reign to stick around for as long as they did so I wouldn’t go around patting myself on the back just yet. This is what we do for a living and I don’t know about you but I like being good at my job.” 

That stings. No. It more than stings. It hurts. Of course, he likes being good at his job. Of course, he wants to be good at hockey. Fuck, he picked it over just following in his father’s shadow and doing what was expected of him. Maybe he wasn’t born into a hockey icon family but he works hard at it anyway. 

Sylvain forces himself not to glare, “Fine. But you’re still allowed to have a couple of drinks and enjoy the moment before soldiering on.” 

“I don’t drink.” Felix immediately shoots back. 

Admittedly, Sylvain’s first instinct is that Felix is lying. That he’s just saying the first contrary thing that pops into his head. That he’ll say anything as long as it doesn’t agree with what Sylvain says. But then Sylvain thinks about it for a moment and actually, as far as he can tell, Felix doesn’t really lie. Not particularly relatable but respectable all the same. 

“Wait, you are 21 right?” 

Felix shrugs, “Yes. I just don’t drink. I didn’t drink in Sweden where I was legal at 18 either.” 

Sylvain hums a surprised note, “Oh. Huh.” 

“I know, Professional Hockey Player who doesn’t drink, scandalous.” Felix keeps his attention away from Sylvain’s face by distracting himself with rearranging his forks and knife. 

“I was going to say it’s-” 

Felix’s head shoots up as he cuts Sylvain off, “If you say endearing I will break both your thumbs.” 

Stifling his bemused smile, Sylvain contemplates both of his thumbs, “I was not going to say endearing but thanks for the heads up.” 

Felix huffs as he tucks a loose chunk of hair behind his right ear for the third time in a minute. With a defeated sigh, he grabs the rest of his hair and twists it up into a loose bun. 

Sylvain watches the practiced action with curiosity, “You know what? You have got to be the only athlete on the planet who lets your hair down when you’re about to exercise and then puts it up when you’re done.”

Felix scowls and moves to tighten the bun “I’m a goalie. Wearing my hair in a bun under the mask doesn’t work, it’s uncomfortable and obnoxious and a ponytail has to be so low it’s more annoying than it’s worth. I use a headband to keep it back out of my eyes and face but otherwise, I leave it down.” 

It hits Sylvain that he’s never played with a goalie with long hair before. Never had to consider the hassle of keeping it out of the way while wearing the full helmet, “So all goalies with long hair just wear it down under the helmet?” 

Felix shrugs but after a moment of consideration shakes his head, ”I can’t speak for all goalies. But some of us do. Some wear really low ponytails but it has to be so low I never really saw the point. Some wear a braid or two.” 

Sylvain chokes on his water at the thought of Felix with Pippy Longstocking style braids. Once he gets the water out of the way of him trying to breathe, his softly offers, “I can braid. If you ever want to try wearing braids I can braid your hair for you.” 

He doesn’t exactly remember why he decided braiding was a skill he should pick up but it’s fairly harmless and yet manages to annoy the hell out of his parents so he likes to keep his skills sharp. 

Unsurprisingly, Felix looks at Sylvain like he wishes he would drop dead on the stop, “I can braid my hair. I just choose not to.” 

“Oh. That’s fair. Actually one of my friends from college just cut her hair, Mercedes-” 

Felix leans forward, nearly upending his own glass of water in the process, “Martritz?” 

“You know her?” Sylvain doesn’t bother trying to hide his surprise. 

Felix scoffs, “We’re both goalies. We have a network.” 

Sylvain waits for a few seconds, curious to see if Felix reveals any tells, “I can’t tell if you’re joking or not.” 

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Realization dawns on Sylvain and it’s his turn to nearly knock his water glass over, “Oh! You also know Ingrid Galatea don’t you?” 

Felix’s eyes narrow and he bites on his lower lip before answering with great suspicion, “Why?”

“We met in high school. We both went to Penn State. She’s a senior there now. Still plays.” 

Felix relaxes an amount that Sylvain would normally probably find laughable, “Oh. Right. Yes. Her father was a journalist that covered the Avs when my dad was in his prime. She sometimes stayed with my family when she would travel for camps and tournaments when we were kids. Actually I think she’s my father’s favorite child because unlike me and G, she actually scores goals.” 

Ingrid doesn’t just score goals. She scores Lots of goals. As a freshman in college, she was 5th in the NCAA for goals scored and 4th in points. By her sophomore year, she was the top goal scorer in the entire damn league. Surprising literally no one who has ever seen her play, she now also wears the C as captain of the team. 

Sylvain takes a moment to consider these implications. Rodrigue, a 6 time, top 5 point-getter in the NHL, an offensive machine, had produced a shutdown defenseman and a goaltender for children. At first glance, it seems like they’re following in their father’s footsteps but even if they’d both remained healthy, neither Glenn or Felix ever was going to touch any of Rodrigue’s franchise records. Was it just fate or was it rebellion? 

“How did you know?” Felix asks, jolting Sylvain hack to the moment. 

“We were chatting last night and you came up.” 

Or rather, Ingrid had laughed for a solid 20 seconds at the image of Sylvain being afraid of Felix. She had been Adamant that he’s all bark and no bite. Overzealous about hockey perhaps but no real threat. 

After that, she’d softened and Sylvain had learned that Felix had ghosted her. Or, whatever the term for the non-romantic equivalent of ghosting is. He’d moved to Sweden without so much as a goodbye and gone radio silent for months. She’d found out where he was from the internet, gotten his number from his older brother. Evidently they're back to being on speaking terms but there's still a multi-year hole in their friendship. 

Felix fidgets, fingers drumming on his glass, “What did she have to say about me?” 

Sylvain mentally plays editor, “Not much. Just that she’s glad you’re back in the continent.” 

Felix’s face darkens, “Bullshit. She didn’t say that.”

Sylvain bites down on his tongue almost hard enough to draw blood to keep from laughing, “Maybe not in so many words but she had the sentiment.” 

Felix’s glower softens as he says“ I still don’t believe that,” Before the rising blush on his cheeks can give him away further, he abruptly changes the subject “We actually did talk about you the other week.” 

Sylvain forces a grin. People have been gossiping about him since before he was born and there are very few people whose opinions actually matter to him. Ingrid being one of them, “Oh? And?” 

Felix meets Sylvain’s eyes, “She says you’re a giant bastard.” 

Unexpectedly, warmth fills Sylvain’s chest. Perhaps his favorite thing about Ingrid is her willingness to call him on his bullshit. To say 'hey you’re being stupid and self-destructive and it isn’t a good look'. Or just 'Shut the Hell Up Asshole'. There is something inexplicably comforting about having people he’s close enough with that they see his faults and not just the perfect person he’s supposed to be. He has Ingrid and he has Thea and maybe, if things go to plan, he’ll have Felix. 

“Yeah sounds about right,” he pauses before adding, “Funny how we know the same people without even realizing it.” 

Felix shrugs, less bothered by this than Sylvain is, “Small world I guess.” 

Sylvain’s brain draws blank trying to come up with a counter-argument and so he settles for, “I suppose so.” 

The waiter returns with their food that smells as amazing as it looks and Sylvain realizes just how hungry he is. He’s ready to just eat. But he’s not just here to eat, he’s here to bond so that their team can be more successful and while Felix seems more interested in his food that Sylvain has ever seen him, he also seems less interested in Sylvain that was 3 minutes ago. 

They’ve lost their rhythm. Sylvain has two methods of getting people to like him. The first relies on dazzling with all of the superficial things about himself that get people’s attention. All donuts for dinner, easy to lure people in with but lacking in any real substance. 

He’s known since day one that technique one wouldn’t work with Felix. He’s just too good at ignoring things that he doesn’t care about. 

The other way is arguably generally less effective but when it does work, it Works. It’s just continuing to be an obnoxious brat until by the time they realize it’s happening, it’s too late and they actually, unfortunately like each other. Ingrid says he grows like mold. 

And he really thought he was getting somewhere working like that with Felix. But now? Now he’s starting to get the sinking feeling that he’s losing Felix’s attention to the painting on the wall. The arrival of the food caused interference that destroyed their rhythm. 

Damn. It felt like they’d made good progress last time. Felix had made the decision to be genuine and open with him. But now he’s back to being empty and distant. Is this what this month is going to be? Just going in circles, where they take a step forward only to undo all of that process?

Unless. Unless Felix thinks he’s already done his part. After all, he talked. He told one personal, emotional story. It could definitely be argued that Felix is holding up his side of the bargain. Perhaps he’s waiting, expecting Sylvain to follow suit. Which, he’ll do. He’s definitely going to open up to Felix at some point here. Just, maybe not today. 

He’s not really used to people expecting things of him like this. Normally when he goes on dates he can just kind of drop some facts about his father and his job and it’s enough to keep the other person interested. 

Somehow he doubts that's going to fly with Felix. It doesn’t feel like New York Politicians rank very high on Felix Fraldarius’ list of interests. 

But perhaps not all hope is lost. After all, Sylvain is capable of making friends. He has friends on the team after all. The older veterans had been fairly easy to win over and living right above Ashe and Dedue has helped him form a genuine bond. 

Wait. He’s going about this wrong. He needs to stop treating this like a date. Not everything that happens over dinner is a date. All they need to do is be friends. Be friends. Make small talk about common interests. Have fun. He can do that. And speaking of common interests, there’s a pretty obvious one.

Filled with new determination, Sylvain raps his knuckles against the table, “Hey Felix?” 

Felix tears his gaze away from the painting on the wall and down to his plate, “Yeah?” 

“I have a hockey-related question.” 

On cue, at the word hockey, Felix looks up and Sylvain smugly gives himself a mental pat on the back. 

“Shoot.” 

Sylvain opens his mouth, ready to make pleasant small talk when the realization of what Felix said hits him. The left corner of Felix’s mouth twitches and Sylvain audibly gasps, “I- you making that pun actually just made me lose my train of thought.” 

Felix fights against his smile for a couple of seconds before giving in and adding with satisfaction, “Wow, you really missed the net on that one eh?” 

Sylvain finds himself torn between delight at the fact that Felix is now actively joking with him and personal offense that he’s making bad hockey puns at him.

“Oh my god, I seem to remember you threatening to end me for making a goals/goals joke just last week. Also, fuck you, I remembered what I was going to say. Your mask design. What does it mean?” 

Felix startles, “It’s a Lion. Because we play for the Lions.” 

A beautiful lion. A lion's face that strikes fear into the hearts that looks in the direction of their goaltender. Almost as intimidating as the man underneath it. 

“Yeah yeah, I know that. But that’s personalization for coming to the team. What about the aspects you designed for you? Goalies get to express themselves in a way the rest of us don’t. It’s a personal piece of art. What’s on yours?” 

Sylvain knows that there are skaters who argue that they should also get to decorate their helmets. That if goalies get to be fun and expressive so should everyone else. But honestly, Sylvain likes the uniformity of the standard helmets. They're a team and they should look the part. The goaltender is in a unique position where they're both a solo athlete and a team player and Sylvain doesn't mind them having some independence with their look. They're so protected, literally wearing almost 50 pounds of gear to keep them safe, there's something oddly wholesome about them getting to show self-expression through art on the mask.

It’s admittedly a little niche but this is a genuine interest of Sylvain’s. In college, he took a class on unconventional art forms and he decided to do his final paper on goalie masks. There are some truly beautiful and some truly terrifying masks out there. Surely this is a topic Felix can speak about. 

Felix’s eyes travel back to the painting, “It’s personal.” 

The brick wall seems pretty self-explanatory so Sylvain contemplates the shield and crossed swords on the backplate, “Is it about your family?” He guesses. 

“It’s personal.” Felix repeats. 

Silently, Sylvain swears. So much for casual small talk about a shared interest. Maybe he can still salvage this, or at the very least stop digging himself a deeper hole to make a grave out of, “That’s fair. I know I’m not talking about my family until I’m at least a couple drinks deep.” 

Felix goes silent and honestly, at this point Sylvain would be okay going the rest of the evening without saying anything. He can stew in silence being bitter about the implication that he doesn’t care about being going at hockey. 

Felix lets his fork clatter against his plate, “You deflect a lot.” 

Sylvain’s heart skips a beat. Don’t panic, he tells himself. Don’t. Panic. 

“I’m sorry?” 

Finally, finally, Felix meets Sylvain’s eyes for a second before looking away and starting talking, “You deflect. I thought you’d like talking about yourself but you don’t. You smile and play all charming like you’re participating in a two-way conversation when really all you’re doing is guilting me into talking about myself while you say nothing about yourself.” 

Sylvain continues to smile and prays that it doesn’t reflect how his remaining brain cells are screaming. But hey, this has happened before, sometimes even people who are only interested in his family name get tired of talking about themselves. 

“Hey, I’m an open book.” Or at least he has practice at pretending to be one. He has practiced responses for a wide variety of topics. He might as well play along for at least a little bit. 

“That’s a fucking lie. You literally just said that you won’t talk about your family without getting drunk first.” 

The array of prepackaged statements float around Sylvain’s mind but he dismisses them and leans forward earnestly, “Okay, okay, that’s fair. I don’t like talking about my family. But I will. I promise. Before we’re done with all of this, I will tell you about my family. But apart from that, I’m not that closed off.” 

The knuckles on Felix’s left hand go white as he forms a tight fist, “What do I know about you? That you went to Penn State? That at some point in your past you used to be a center? You made me tell you all about the most traumatizing injury of my career and what it did to my family.” 

That’s fair Sylvain supposes. He has intentionally experimented with pressing buttons to see what kind of reactions he could get out of Felix and he’s honestly impressed with the courage Felix showed with telling him about his past. 

It’s only reasonable that he makes an attempt to match him right? He makes no promises it’ll actually happen tonight but he might as well see what Felix actually wants to know. No point in spilling details about himself that Felix doesn’t actually give a shit about.

“What do you want to know about me?” 

Felix straightens up, extending every inch of his spine, “Where are you from?” 

Sylvain lets out the breath he didn’t mean to hold in, that’s a question that he doesn’t have to do any sort of lying about, “Easy enough. I was born and raised in New York but most of my extended family is in Montreal.” 

Felix nods, “Does that make you a Habs, Rangers, Islanders or Sabres fan?” 

“Islanders, don’t tell my uncles though.” It only ever comes up when the whole family is drunk and that means it’s never a civil discussion. 

For as much as his father and his father’s father have established a legacy in New York, his family is still very much anchored in Montreal and by many of them he’s viewed as an enemy for not just crossing the border but staying here. 

“Why did you stop being a center?” 

Sylvain startles, his fork scraping against his plate with an ear-splitting screech. He blinks.

Felix has pulled an almost total 180 on comfort level on him out of nowhere. “I told you, I like defense more.” 

It’s been literal years since he gave up being a forward. Nobody ever cares why. People don’t want to play defense, they want to be a forward or they want to be a goalie, being a defender isn’t cool and so when someone volunteers for the position, no one asks questions. Well, no one besides Felix. 

“Why?” Felix pushes with an intensity that gives Sylvain the feeling that for some goddamn reason this isn’t going to be brushed over that easily. Fuck. 

He lets the smile fall from his lips, “Ah, I suppose I owe you a real answer don’t I?” 

“I’d say so.” Felix agrees. 

“I did like the glory of being a forward. I liked scoring. But you don’t score more often than you do and I couldn’t deal with that.” It’s weird admitting it out loud. Sylvain spends a lot of time actively trying not to think about who he was in high school. 

Felis looks baffled and shrugs, “No one _likes_ missing shots.” 

Sylvain tries to laugh but it comes out as a hollow sound. He’s suddenly scared that he’s dangerously close to tears. The months where the One thing he had genuinely enjoyed doing started causing him more stress was a really really low point for him. He’s not there anymore and he’s now better equipped to deal with those emotions than he had been as a teenager but it’s still a terrifying prospect, the idea of returning to that state. That at any moment his dream could all crumble and he’d just be useless and helpless again. 

Ah. So this is how Felix felt when he was reliving the collusion that almost paralyzed him. Not good. It feels really Not Good. 

Somehow he decides to continue, “That’s true. But I got, I guess you’d call it...obsessive in a way? I started keeping track of everything that I did in games and practices. Counting my shots, counting my goals. Constantly calculating my shot percentage. I was thinking more about the numbers than I was the game. It wasn’t...fun anymore.” 

He winces. It physically hurts to remember the time when hockey, the one good thing in his life had stopped being fun because his mind had decided to fuck it all up for him.

“Oh,” Felix says. 

Apparently 'Oh' is the other thing either of them knows how to say when the other drops a bombshell. 

“I was a decent center. But I wanted to be better than I was. There weren’t a lot of things that I enjoyed about high school and the hockey team was basically the only place I ever wanted to be. The switch to defense saved hockey for me. I won’t claim that I’m the perfect defenseman. I make mistakes and sometimes I get caught up in my head because of it. I try to control things I can’t possibly hope to control. But believe me when I say I’m happy being a defenseman for this team. I don’t care about scoring goals. This is what I want to be doing.” 

Felix cracks his knuckles and tips his head thoughtfully, “So you like defense?”

Sylvain frowns, he’s not sure what other possible takeaways there could be from all of that, “Yeah. I mean, obviously.” 

Felix pauses, taking a moment to chew on his left thumbnail, “You like playing defense here? With the Lions?”

Sylvain nods, gaining confidence, “Yes,” he asserts.

Felix goes quiet long enough for Sylvain to wonder if he somehow passed Felix dedicated to put him through. 

Instead of congratulations, however, Felix lifts his chin, “We’re going to lose.”

“What?” 

“Just because we won a game doesn’t mean it’s all smooth sailing from here on out. We’re not going to go 60-2-0 on the season.”

Sylvain swallows. He knows that’s true. No part of him has ever dreamed of winning that many games in a single season, “I know. I know.” 

Felix’s head cocks again, “And you’re okay with that?” 

Sylvain hums a contemplative note in order to buy himself some time to construct a real answer to a question he’s almost positive doesn’t have one. 

“In the ‘Am I going to have another mental breakdown over it’ sense’? In that sense, yeah I’m okay with it. I’m stronger than I used to be and I’;m not going to fall apart over things I can't hope to control. In the ‘Will I accept that we can’t be any better than we are now’ sense? I absolutely am not. I am not willing to give up my belief that this team has potential right now. We just need all be willing to find it.” 

“Okay,” Felix says, his face suddenly extraordinarily blank. Sure, now the kid learns how to play poker. 

“Okay?” 

“Uh-huh,” Felix confirms, his expression still eerily blank.

“What does that mean?”

Felix’s attention goes pointedly down to the table as he takes his sweet time calculating the tip on the receipt. Once finished he still doesn’t raise his gaze, “It means I guess we’re doing what G told us to. And that I guess it might actually be working.” 

Sylvain has to fight remarkably hard to not physically pump his fist in victory. This is the same kid that earlier this very evening accused him of not caring if he’s actually good at his job or not. Now he’s, admittedly reluctantly, agreeing that maybe this is working. So perhaps Sylvain did say the right thing after all. 

“Yeah. I guess we are. I mean there are certainly worse things than getting to know each other.”

“I. Well uh, yeah, that’s true. Just, uh, don’t tell my brother that yet. He doesn’t need the satisfaction right now and I can’t deal with him gloating.” 

“Don’t worry, I get it.”

In fact, Sylvain is entirely too familiar with having an older brother all too willing to gloat about anything and everything he’s right about.

Felix sighs and tugs aggressively on the loose strands of his hair before asking, “Speaking of proving him right. Can I by any chance get a ride home?” 

Sylvain refuses to keep himself from laughing, “Obviously. You mean this is just something we do now?” 

“It absolutely is not,” Felix reels back as disgusted as if Sylvain has personally offended him.

“What’s it that coaches say? ‘One time is an accident, two times is a coincidence, three times is a habit?”

Felix glowers, “Shut up.” 

Sylvain easily ignores this, “You know, since I know where you live, one of these days are you going to let me pick you up?” 

“Don’t make it weird.” 

Felix punctuates this by sending an elbow in Sylvain’s direction but Sylvain casually sidesteps out of its path. 

“I’m not making it weird, I’m just doing my part for the environment and offering to carpool.”

Even as Felix rolls his eyes, Sylvain can’t help but smile smugly. They’ve won in more ways than just the one on the score sheet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: (Opens my mouth)  
> Anyone who knows me: Yes yes, we know, you love goalies. You're a goalie and you love literally every other goalie out there. We know.
> 
> As always thank you for reading! Feel free to say hello in the comments if it strikes your fancy. 
> 
> Next time: Something (mostly) unrelated to hockey shakes Felix to his core and he surprises himself with who he reaches out to for support. (don't worry, everything will be fine :) )
> 
> Optional reading! This time I have something more fun that concussion stuff. This is just goalie masks!
> 
> This list is from 2013 but it includes Tuukka Rask's growling bear mask which was 110% my inspiration for Felix's growling Lion mask, https://thehockeywriters.com/nhl-goalie-masks-starters-backups/ it's absolutely worth a look


	5. Week 2, Session 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a trip to the hospital with his big brother, Felix is not in the mood to go out for dinner, luckily Sylvain is willing to come to him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I hope you all are still doing well! The first week of classes for the quarter certainly was Something! But I'm here now. Last week I said I was aiming for Friday and Saturday and I am just barely making it in on Saturday but I'll count it as a success. This is admittedly where the detailed part of my outline ends and it becomes a lot more vague all around so I'm not sure if I'll be able to keep to as constant of a schedule but we shall see! I can't believe the initial plan was for this to be a one-shot (sobs in 27k at the half way point) and I also can't believe we're halfway done! Thank you all so much!
> 
> I think this chapter might be a little heavier on hockey terms, most of them are pretty self-explanatory or not important to actually know what they mean but as always you can always ask for clarification if you want.

##  **_WEDNESDAY OCTOBER 11 FHIRDIAD LIONS VS SAN DIEGO GULLS (4-2)_** **_W_**

##  **_THURSDAY OCTOBER 12 WEEK 2, SESSION 2_ **

Felix stares out the window. The lights for the backyard rink are on, a brilliant white in the otherwise encompassing blackness of night. The light to the far right flickers slightly every thirty seconds. Felix wonders how Glenn spends so many of his nights out there working without the flickering driving him mad. 

Part of him itches to be out there. To train. To just Hit Something. To rid himself of this fear, this panic, this sick weakness. More than that though, he wants his dad. He wants to go crying to his dad about how scared he was. But his dad isn’t here, he won’t be here for the rest of the month and anyways he’s not a child.

Hey.” 

The unexpected sound pulls Felix from his thoughts and he whirls around, fists clenched, ready to lash out. 

“Woah, hey it’s just me yeah?”

Felix frowns as he studies the equally startled figure before him, “Sylvain? I thought you left.” 

“I did. But I came back.”

Felix stares, ‘ _I came back’,_ it sounds amazingly natural coming off of Sylvain’s tongue. For a man, who as far as Felix can tell has never truly committed to anything in his life, Sylvain sounds incredibly sure of this. Like of course he would come back. And Felix for the life of him, can’t figure out why. 

“How?” He finally asks. The house is big. Way too big for just him and Glenn to be living here. Sometimes, late in the night, Felix gets this Feeling that there are people walking the halls. Just pacing. And here Sylvain stands, seemingly willed into existence. No, not willed, because willed would imply that Felix wants him here. And Felix absolutely does not want him here. 

Sylvain chuckles, “How? Through the front door? Used your big lion’s head knocker and everything? Glenn let me in.” 

It doesn’t escape Felix that this is the first time Sylvain has ever referred to Glenn as just ‘Glenn’. Not ‘The Coach’, not, ‘Your Brother’, but just ‘Glenn’. There’s a familiarity about it that Sylvain didn’t have with them even eight hours earlier. It’s odd, but what’s even odder is that Felix doesn’t mind it. 

“Why?” Felix asks, bringing himself back around to his original question. Because as much as he inexplicably doesn’t mind having Sylvain standing here, there’s a look in his eyes that can only be described as pity and Felix won’t stand for that. 

“Uh, well,” Sylvain’s hands fidget, an uncharacteristic physical display of discomfort. “I wanted to make sure you were okay.” 

Sylvain’s voice is low, borderline hesitant but it makes every muscle in Felix’s body tense. He just had this conversation with his brother. He just had this exact conversation with his brother.

They’d been waiting for Sylvain, sitting in the criminally uncomfortable hospital seats when Glenn had reached out and squeezed Felix’s knee, “Hey, I’m okay. I’m okay Flex.” 

And objectively Felix knew that was true. That the doctors, the world-class cardiologist had promised that whatever this pain in Glenn’s chest was, it wasn’t dangerous. Not like before. Not like the night he’d lost his lower leg. 

Noting the way that his younger brother’s frown had refused to budge, Glenn had leaned closer to Felix, “I’m okay. But are you okay?” 

Felix knows that he’s supposed to be strong. That’s how he was raised. To be strong and self-sufficient. He shouldn’t need coddling. But in that moment, the tiny of him that still remained the scared baby brother that was always chasing after Glenn took over. 

The part of him that had cried whenever he was left behind and always sworn that one day he’d be the better player, the part of him that stills calls out for his father whenever he wakes from a nightmare. That part of him, the only part of him that could admit that perhaps he was not, is not okay, reached out and grabbed Glenn’s hold, clinging onto it for dear life. 

That same scared part of him lunges for Sylvain. It seeks comfort. It seeks Sylvain. Which is dumb, like Felix almost wants to slap himself it’s so dumb. They’re not friends. Not really. Are they? Anyway, Felix isn’t doing this twice in one day. 

“I’m fine.” He says. He knows it comes out too aggressively to be believable. But really, that’s fine. He doesn’t need it to be believable, he just needs Sylvain to leave him alone. 

For a moment, a glorious moment, Felix thinks it’s working. Sylvain looks away, almost as if agreeing to leave. But then he turns back, “You seemed pretty freaked earlier.” 

It takes the last shreds of Felix’s patience to not scoff, “I was freaked earlier. I’m fine now. Just have a lot of leftover energy and adrenaline.” 

“Right,” Sylvain says, clearly unconvinced. 

“Look,” Felix sighs, “I’m sorry for freaking you out. I shouldn’t have texted-” abruptly the room tilts, sending him stumbling, arms searching desperately for something to steady himself on. Of course, it ends up being Sylvain’s firm grip that keeps him upright, “Ugh.”

He’s always been prone to dizzy spells and passing out after extended periods of high adrenaline. In youth hockey, he once had a coach who would only pull him out of tournaments when he was too dizzy to stand properly. 

“You were saying?”

“Okay, I might be running low on adrenaline. I’m fine. Don’t freak out or anything.” 

“Me? Do I look like I’m freaking out?” 

And to Felix’s disgust, Sylvain doesn’t. He’s just as irritatingly calm as he always is. He’s calm on the ice and he’s calm off the ice and he just has the presence that seems to radiate the feeling that eventually, everything will be okay. At first Felix found it extremely unnerving to be around but now... Now it’s something else. 

“Well, you checked on me so you can go now.” 

Sylvain laughs but it’s not his usual amused sound, it’s more uncomfortable, almost awkward, “I brought dinner.” He motions at the bags he’d abandoned on the floor in order to catch Felix. 

“Why?” 

“Glenn asked me to? Also figured you weren’t going to be in the mood to go out, all things considered.” 

Felix frowns. Go out? Oh. Oh no. The realization hits, “It’s Thursday.” 

“Yeah,” Sylvain confirms.

“Fuck.” They’re supposed to go out and eat and talk and honestly Felix has zero interest in doing any of that right now.

“Don’t worry about it.” Sylvain soothes, “I brought dinner.” He repeats. 

“God.” It’s Thursday which means they have a game tomorrow. And the next day. Fuck he’s tired.

“Figured you wouldn’t want to go out but since you’re okay maybe we could still chat for a bit?”

No, Felix wants to say. Go home. Go talk with your friends and do whatever it is you do when you’re not playing hockey. Leave me alone and let me crawl into my bed and hide from the world. 

What he says instead is, “The dining room is through there.” 

Sylvain gathers up his plastic bags and slowly makes his way through the door Felix pointed at, repeatedly checking over his shoulder as if to make sure Felix is in fact still conscious. 

Felix sinks into ‘his’ chair, leaving Sylvain to glance around at the 7 unoccupied seats before settling for the one directly across from Felix.

“Here,” he hands Felix a black take-out container. Despite a distinct lack of hunger, Felix opens the lid. He takes one glance inside and surprise nearly has him sending it flying across the table, “H-how? How did you know?” 

Sure they’ve talked now. They’ve both said things more personal than perhaps they meant to but still there’s no way. There’s no way in hell that Sylvain could know his exact order from the restaurant his dad used to take him to after games. There’s no way. 

Sylvain studies the contents of his own take-out container, “Glenn told me what to get you.” 

“So you’re friends with the coach now huh?” 

Sylvain’s hand goes to his head and he tugs uncomfortably at his curls as he runs his fingers through them, “Uh, well, maybe? It’s been a weird day, yeah? Tomorrow we might just go back to how things were before.” 

He slumps forward slightly, his weight shaking the heavy wooden table ever so slightly. He might not be quite as physically shaky as Felix but it’s clear that Sylvain is also saturated with fatigue. He rubs his hands across his face, just barely avoiding a barely scabbed over cut along the left side of his jaw.

Sylvain seems unbothered by it but Felix elects to comment on it anyway, “That cut is new isn’t it?” 

Minorly surprised, Sylvian prods gently against the injury, “This? Oh, yeah, got high sticked last night. It’s fine, didn’t need stitches or anything.”

Felix frowns, he doesn’t keep track of everything that happens on the ice, that’s both unhelpful and impossible but he does keep decent track of the important goings-on and while the stick definitely broke the skin on Sylvain’s face, he knows there weren’t any double minor penalties in the game.

“Wasn’t that only a minor? Looks like it drew blood though, should have argued for the double minor.”

Sylvain pats his cheek once more, checking for blood long gone, “Guess I didn’t notice at the time and neither did the ref. We still scored on the power-play.” 

That they had. Dedue had released a beast of a shot from the point and somehow Ashe had deflected it in short side. Textbook play. 

Felix tilts his head and luckily the dizziness doesn’t return, “Could have scored twice if it was a double,” he points out. 

“Fair enough, I’m admittedly not the best at remembering to check for blood but I’ll do my best next time. Honestly, I think my hand still hurt more from the slash than the high stick.” 

“You were slashed? “ 

Sylvain frowns and the intensity of his gaze on Felix rises, “Yeah, early in the 2nd, we scored on that power-play too.”

It had been a messier goal, slammed home on the third or fourth rebound but they can’t all be pretty and a goal is a goal no matter how it’s scored. 

“I have other things to pay attention to than just who the penalties were against. But seriously, you drew both of the minors that we scored on?”

Sylvain chuckles and gives a helpless shrug accompanied with a wink that lacks most of his usual charm, “What can I say? There’s just something about me that makes other players want to take a penalty.” 

Felix exhales hard through his nose, “I mean I also sometimes look at you and am filled with the urge to slash you. ” The feeling at least normally passes quickly. 

Sylvain taps his plastic fork against his styrofoam container and raises an eyebrow, “Really? Slashing is the dumbest penalty to take.”

Felix balks, in general, he doesn’t consider one Type of penalty that he considers the worst. It’s case by case, while many coaches will refuse to admit it there are Good Penalties and Bad Penalties to take and taking a Bad Penalty can have real consequences for the team. But any kind of penalty can be Bad and any kind of penalty can be Less Bad, “The dumbest? Seriously?”

With an aggressive stab at a stray piece of broccoli, Sylvain shrugs, “It’s super easy for the officials to call these days and it almost never actually helps you gain possession. There’s no reason to do it, if you’re going to commit a penalty, at least make it worth the penalty kill.” 

It’s a surprisingly fair assessment if you’re going to break the rules, you better be sure it’s worth it to the team. There have been plenty of times that Felix has been filled with the desire to slash someone who came too close to stepping his crease but the idea of having to kill the subsequent penalty is enough to mostly keep his temper in check. 

“What about too-many-men?” As a goalie, Felix can, in theory, commit most of the same penalties as the skaters. He doesn’t of course, goalie penalties are pretty darn rare and his personal high of 6 penalty minutes over the course of 33 starts had come when he was going through some personal issues. But too-many-men he can’t really be a part of and to this day he still doesn’t totally understand why grown men have such a hard time getting the right number of players on the ice?

Sylvain’s neck pops as he stretches his arms high above his head, “What about it?” 

“You have one job and it’s to count to five. Why on earth are there so many too-many-men penalties?” 

“Sometimes line changes go wrong. It’s not as easy as it looks.” 

Felix shakes his head, that’s not what he means. Line changes on the fly are quick and mistakes are bound to happen, Felix gets that. He knows it’s harder than it looks to haul your body over the boards and onto the bench. 

“No, no. I can forgive too-many-men when it happens in the middle of a line change and the puck happens to bounce over to the boards and you get an unlucky touch. But there are still way too many times when play is happening and someone gets on the ice way too early. How does that even happen? Count to five.” 

Sylvain pauses for a moment before responding with half a smile, “Guess you share that opinion with your brother. Isn’t that at least part of why the bench has assigned seating, so everyone can have an easier time making sure they’re getting on the ice at the right time.”

Felix can’t help but chuckle. Every time Glenn wants to mix up his line combinations or d-pairs, he has to rearrange the bench seat assignments accordingly. To make that job easier on himself, he’s created a bench whiteboard and printed custom magnets with his players' names that can be moved as needed. 

It hangs in the dressing room at intermissions and at the back of the bench during play. 

It’s a pretty unique system but at least he has some reasoning behind it. 

“His rookie season the Avs set a league record for most too-many-men penalties taken in season and I don’t think he’s ever been able to let that go.” 

Sylvain struggles to stifle a chuckle, “Some records are better than others.”

Felix doesn’t have a response to that and so a silence falls as they both dutifully poke at and consume their dinner. 

Finally, he summons the courage to ask the question that’s been haunting him for weeks now, “Do you think he’s a good coach? My brother.” 

Sylvain drops his plastic fork. His eyes wide as he glances around the room, searching every corner of the empty space for some kind of hidden camera, “Um.” He opens intelligently. Felix wrestles with the urge to snicker, “Yeah. I do. I do think he’s a good coach. Obviously he’s still learning but I think overall he’s a good coach. He knows the game really well. He has a good mind for strategy, good structure for practices and genuine respect for his players. There’s not much more I can ask for.” 

He glances over his shoulder as if expecting the man in question to materialize. When he doesn’t, Sylvain bounces the conversation back at Felix, “What about you? Do you think he’s a good coach?” 

Felix drops his gaze to the scuff marks the table leg has left on the wooden floor. He’s biased. Obviously. It’s been years since Glenn last suited up as a player and yet that’s still who he is in Felix’s mind. Ever since the day that he learned to skate, Felix remembers chasing after Glenn. All the time preparing for the day that one they’d either stand side by side for the same team or face off against each other. It had practically been a given. So even know, seeing him as a coach is weird. But perhaps what’s even stranger is that it works. The fact that they’re doing something that isn’t exactly what they always were supposed to become and it’s not a total disaster. That’s what’s really strange. 

“Yes. I think I think you’re right. Mostly.” 

“You’re agreeing with me? That’s a first.” Sylvain teases in that slyly comfortable way. There’s something about the way he does that, that feels like they’ve been friends for years and have an established relationship.

Felix can’t help but get defensive, “It’s not a first.” 

“Really?” Sylvain’s expression turned from slight grin to full-blown smile and despite his fatigue, it’s almost blinding to look at. 

“Oh shut up.” 

Looking entirely too pleased with himself, Sylvain obliges. For maybe 40 seconds. Then he asks, “Are you and your brother close? Off the ice?” 

Felix opens his mouth to respond before realizing that there isn’t really an easy answer to that. He shuts his mouth, scowls and then tries again, “He’s basically all I have.” 

It’s true in the sense that if Felix had to pick a favorite blood relative it would be Glenn. Sure he loves his aunts and uncles and yes, he knows that despite everything that they’ve disagreed about, his father is honestly trying his best. But still, Glenn edges them all out. 

So it would seem that the obvious answer is yes, yes they’re close. But their closeness is not what brought Felix here. 

He’s here to repay a debt. He continues, “He was playing in the NHL at the time but he was still there for me when I went through PT but I wasn’t there for him when he went through it so it only seemed fair for me to be here now since he asked me to come.” 

Physical therapy after the incident had been brutal. Having to relearn things that had become second nature to him. It was slow and it was painful and every minute that passed he was falling further and further behind everyone else. And yet somehow in all of it, it had been Glenn, Glenn who was exhausted from playing in the NHL, Glenn who was on the road half of the time, who made sure he was taking time to be a brother. Made sure that Felix didn’t quit. 

It was in no small part due to Glenn that Felix had been able to jet off to Sweden. But because he jetted off to Sweden he wasn’t in Colorado less than a year later when Glenn went down. Wasn’t there when in front of nearly 20,000 people, Glenn’s heart stopped. Wasn’t there when he was taken to the hospital. Wasn’t there when they amputated his lower right leg. 

Felix had found the next morning, not from his father, not from his uncle, not from anyone he knew directly but from the hundreds of tweets that were lighting up his phone by the hour. 

He’d flown home because of course, he’d flown home. 

But once Glenn got out of the hospital, he pushed away from Felix. It was all ‘I’m fine, go back to your team Flex. They need you.’ He’d wanted to protest. He really had but how could he? It had been dumb of him to ever think that Glenn would ever see him as an equal. He’s the younger brother and ultimately he will always need Glenn more than Glenn needs him. So he went back to Sweden. 

Which of course brings them to now, or rather to 4 months ago when Glenn had shown up at his door and all but begged for him to sign with the Lions. Perhaps Glenn will never know it but the moment he’d said “I need you there”, Felix had known, he’d known that there was no way in hell that he could say no. 

This is payment in full for the debt that he has from all those years ago. So are they close? It’s hard to say. 

“That’s actually really sweet.” 

No. Felix thinks, it’s not sweet, it’s really fucked up that they’re like this but what can you do about it now? He’s done thinking about it so he moves the conversation back in Sylvain’s direction, “You have a brother too don’t you?”

Sylvain startles, “How do you know that?” 

“You’ve brought it up a couple of times. In passing.” There is admittedly, a shocking lack of information about said brother in any of Sylvain’s internet presence. 

“You remembered?” Sylvain exhales shakily, his attention down on the table. 

Felix frowns, “I know I said the concussion messed with my memory but I am capable of remembering things that people say.” 

Sylvain looks up and all traces of shock and doubt have vanished, “Yeah, yeah, fair enough. You’re right. I have an older half brother. We’re not close. I don’t think you would like him either. He’s the kind of forward no goalie gets along with.” He laughs but the sound lacks humor. 

“He plays?” As far as Felix can tell, there’s no mention of anyone else in Sylvain’s family playing hockey. 

Sylvain nods then immediately shakes his head, “He did. Or maybe he does again. I don’t know, we don’t talk.” 

“Things are that bad?” 

He laughs again, “They’re not good. He did one good thing for me and that was get me into hockey.” 

“I-” Felix starts, searching for something, anything to say because this is clearly a sore spot and he’s really not sure either of them has the energy to deal with prodding at a sore spot tonight. 

Sylvain cuts in before Felix can come up with anything, “Are there lights on in your backyard?” 

Felix barely has to glance over his shoulder to know what Sylvain is talking about. The lights for the rink are still on, the one of the right still flickering every so often, “Oh. They’re the lights for the rink. Unless Glenn is out there they’ll turn off automatically on their own soon.” 

Sylvain’s spine straightens all the way out, “You have a rink in your backyard?” 

Felix chews on his lip, “It doesn’t have ice, just ball hockey surfacing but it’s full-sized and it’s got all the markings.” 

Sylvain pushes out of his chair and makes his way around the table to stand in the window and gaze out into the backyard, “If you did have a rink with ice in your backyard I would kill you for not telling me. I miss pond hockey.” 

Of course, Felix thinks, Sylvain is both a Montreal boy and a New York boy, of course, he grew up on pond hockey. 

He twists in his chair, drawing his knees tightly up towards his chest, “We used to have a house further north, in the mountains, that we’d stay in during the off season when my father was still playing.”

Sylvain’s hands fall to his sides with a solid slap, “Dude.” 

Felix’s cheeks flare with heat though he isn’t entirely sure why "When we moved here the plan was for it to eventually be a fully functional rink like the one we had at the mountain house. But Glenn moved in with his teammates, I got hurt and left the country and Sasha moved out, broke down and refused to come back and somewhere in all of that the home renovation project kind of got lost.”

Woah. He hasn’t called Dimitri, Sasha, in literal years. He hasn’t done that since they were teenagers and yet it was just sitting there on the tip of his tongue. He wonders what that means. 

“Wow. You were just born to do this yeah?” 

Felix gasps. Sylvain’s tone is light and he’s fairly confident that he didn’t mean anything by it Felix still squirms as if a jar of worms was poured down his back, “Don’t say that. Don’t say that I was born for this.” 

“Are you okay?” Sylvain swings around, seating himself in the chair next to Felix, his body so close that Felix can feel his warm breath, “Felix?” 

“I’m fine.” Felix snaps, turning his chair and banging his left knee against the tabletop. 

“Felix.” 

Sylvain’s voice is unbearably soft and full of concern and were he not so _tired_ Felix can’t promise that he wouldn’t have just socked Sylvain here and now, “Just don’t. Alright? It’s days like these that make me wish I don’t love hockey as much as I do. My whole life has been leading me towards this and I wish I didn’t want it as badly as I do.” 

Sylvain’s hand hovers helplessly above Felix’s knee, “Look, I get it. My parents had a very set career path in mind for me.” 

“You might ‘get’ it but you don’t get it. This whole ‘born to be a hockey player’ thing is bullshit. I saw what it did to my brother. It damn near killed him. Healthy 23-year-olds don’t just have heart attacks out of the blue. I see what it’s still doing to Dimitri. The way that it messes with his mind, the way that he thinks he has to be his father or else? It’s all bullshit and if I knew how to do anything else I would be far far away from all of it. But sometimes I don’t think I’m a person without hockey. So I guess I’ll also play until I die.” 

Felix immediately wishes for a way to un-say something. To take back words that have been put out in the universe. Or at the very least, a hole to open up and swallow him. 

“Felix,” Sylvain starts. 

Felix stammers trying to regain composure, “I. I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean that last part.” 

“It’s alright. Sometimes we just need to say things.”

“I know what it looks like. How I have what so many people want in the opportunity to be a professional athlete and I’m mad about it. I’m not a good person.” 

He grew up wanting for nothing except to reach his brother and yet sometimes he wonders what it would be like to grow up any other way. Where it wasn’t just expected that he’d be exceptional from the day he was born. To be allowed to try and fail at many things and while he might not be the best at any of them at least he would know how to do something besides be a hockey player. 

“You’re not that bad. You’re allowed to want to trade wealth and success for genuine affection.” 

“It’s selfish,” Felix says as if it’s not only the start of the long list of things that are wrong with him. 

“Sometimes, being selfish isn’t the end of the world,” Sylvain says and Felix notices that the words seem only half directed at him and half Sylvain directing them back at himself.

“Would you give up your hockey career to reconcile with your brother?” 

They’re physically close enough that Felix can see Sylvain’s pulse gain speed in his neck. Sylvain shakes his head, “No. Not anymore. I’m too happy with where I am and proud of how far I’ve come. I have enough people that I love and who love me that I don’t need him anymore. Sometimes you have to live for yourself.” 

Felix laughs because of course, it sounds simple, “I don’t even know who I am.” 

He plays hockey and he loves playing hockey but should he be stripped of that, what would he do. His brother bounced back but could he? Years ago when injury had threatened to end his career, he’d made a choice. He’d had the opportunity to jump ship, to try and be normal and he hadn’t taken it. And most days there’s not a doubt in his mind that he made the right decision. But on days like this, on days where he’s scared beyond all things of losing his brother, he can’t help but wonder what if. 

“It’s okay. You’d be amazed by how many don’t either.” Sylvain’s voice is soft and gentle and yet somehow it lacks the pity that Felix hates so much, “What do you like doing?” 

Felix’s throat constricts so tightly he’s surprised he’s able to get any words out, “I don’t know.” 

For some reason, it feels like a confession of a life long secret. It’s not like he hates everything. He reads books. He listens to podcasts. He’s not awful with a crochet hook. He follows Several cat accounts on Instagram. But sometimes it just feels like they’re ways to kill time between playing hockey and training for hockey and living and breathing hockey. Basically all of the things that he could possibly call a hobby are things he can do on the plane or the bus. If he had real free time, what would he actually do? 

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Sylvain whispers, “It’s okay,” he repeats a final time and it comes out a promise. 

“I don’t know,” Felix says to nothing in particular. 

“It’s not too late. You’re not doomed to a life you hate just yet. You might just have to take a leap and try things, You might not like all of them but hopefully, it’ll be worth it.” 

“Like what?” 

“Well,” Sylvain starts, “I have tickets to the touring production of Evita next month if that’s something you’d be potentially interested in?” 

Felix stares. Is Sylvain inviting him to the theater? Of his own free will? Since going pro, he’s had teammates invite him out for dinner or drinks mostly out of polite obligation and Felix in turn has refused most of these invitations, but this, this feels different.

“You mean, like the two of us? Together?” 

Sylvain laughs, “Yeah. Unless there’s someone else you’d rather go with in which case I can help you get tickets.” 

Felix only has to think about that for a quarter of a second. There’s not. Not here at least, “I mean-” 

“Hey, do either of you need anything?” 

Felix and Sylvain nearly knock heads as they both look up at the sound of a third voice. Glenn appears, leaning against the doorframe.

Sylvain drops Felix’s hand like it’s hot and Felix for the first time, realizes that Sylvain had his hand cradled in both of his own. Huh. He’s not sure when that happened. 

Felix twists in his chair, his heel making solid contact with Sylvain’s shin. 

“No, no, we’re all good here,” Sylvain stammers, “We’re just wrapping up but we’re all good right?” His eyes dash to Felix for confirmation.

“We’re fine,” Felix quietly agrees. 

“Well I’m about to start getting ready for bed I think. Figured I’d turn in early all things considered. Thank you for all your help today Sylvain, have a safe drive home.” 

Sylvain blushes, “Yeah, of course, I mean it was no problem, thank you.” 

Satisfied, Glenn vanishes back into the hallway. 

“Jesus,” Felix mutters to himself.

Sylvain abruptly pushes himself out of his seat, “Well, I should probably get going.” 

“Huh?” Felix asks around a yawn. He’s oddly not ready to be alone again. 

Sylvain shrugs amicably, “You look ready to fall asleep at the table. I should let you rest.” 

Admittedly that’s not too far off base, more than half of Felix is ready to just curl up and fall asleep, “What time is it?’ 

Sylvain glances down at his left wrist, “20:37.”

“Jesus fuck.” It feels hours later than that, midday already feeling like weeks ago. 

Sylvain offers a sympathetic smile, “It’s been a long day. Understandable that you’re tired.” 

Felix forces a scowl, “Okay but I didn’t ask.”

“We have a game tomorrow too.” 

“Fuck. We have a game tomorrow.” 

“Yeah. Do you know if you’re starting?” 

“I don’t know, it’s the first half of back to backs anyway so if not tomorrow then the day after.” They’re playing the Barracuda in a home and home and even had Felix’s day gone more to plan he suspects he was always going to start one of the games and not the other. 

Sylvain nods, “Then I really should let you rest.” 

“And what about you?” 

“What about me?” He seems genuinely baffled. 

Felix huffs, “You are for sure going to be playing tomorrow. You should be getting ready to rest too.” 

Laughter bubbles out of Sylvain’s chest and he grins, “Oh are you worried about me now?” 

“As if. Just looking out for the team.” 

“Sure sure. Well, I can’t exactly give you a ride home tonight,” Sylvain gestures to the walls, “So I’m going to head home. Have a good night Felix.” 

“If I get texts from you at 3 am I will kick your ass.” 

Sylvain pulls on his coat, waving a dismissive hand, “Okay okay I hear you.” 

Only once Sylvain is almost out of the room does Felix softly say, “Thank you.” 

“Any time.”

(Bonus that I couldn’t bring myself to cut)

Felix treks down the hall but instead of turning towards the stairs that would take him up to his room, he finds himself nudging the door to his brother’s room open. 

Unsurprisingly, Glenn is already in bed, changed into loose sweats, his prosthetic neatly set by the side table. He’s propped up on his pillows, his laptop balanced on its tray as he frowns over his glasses at whatever it is he’s typing. 

The creak of the door alerts Glenn to Felix’s presence and he looks up from his screen, “Hey. Sylvain gone home?” 

Felix’s tongue is heavy and so he just nods. 

“You good? Do you need anything from me?” 

Felix winces, does he need anything? No of course not. He’s just being young and weak and right now literally the last thing Glenn and his heart needs is more stress. He shakes his head and turns to leave. 

“Flex, what’s wrong?” Glenn coaxes and Felix reluctantly turns back around. 

He plays with his fingers for a few seconds before bringing himself to ask, “Can I sleep here tonight?” 

Glenn’s expression transforms from concern to something that Felix can’t quite place. It’s been years since he last made this request. He was probably around 8 and his 14-year-old had been the coolest person in the entire world. Everything is different now.

Glenn’s face settles on a smile, “If you take a shower first, sure.” 

“Alright.” 

Glenn shuts his laptop and gently places it on the nightstand, “Well I’m going to crash any minute now, so if I’m asleep by the time you get back, good night Flex.” 

“Good night G.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! 
> 
> Next time (whenever the hell that may be): What the Hell is Up With Sylvain and His Brother
> 
> Optional Reading: if you have a chance, take a moment to watch Craig Cunningham skate again a couple of years after his heart attack and amputation, it's really amazing stuff, https://www.usatoday.com/story/sports/2019/04/05/craig-cunningham-coyotes-recovery-heart-attack-amputation/3376060002/


	6. Week 3, Session 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sylvain has feelings. He tries to deal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I'm so sorry that it's been 3 and a half weeks I don't know what happened. 
> 
> Minor warning, this chapter Sylvain finally explains some of what the fuck happened with him and his brother and it isn't exactly pleasant. There is nothing graphic but be aware of repeatedly mentions of an unhealthy dynamic. Also passing mention of teenage pregnancy by someone not actually in the story. 
> 
> This chapter also has a frankly absurd number of flashbacks, I didn't ask for this, I don't want this and Yet. 
> 
> Anyway, thank you for sticking with me

##  **_FRIDAY OCTOBER 12_** ** _FHIRDIAD LIONS @_** ** _SAN JOSE BARRACUDA (3-0)_**

##  **_SATURDAY OCTOBER 13_** ** _FHIRDIAD LIONS VS_** ** _SAN JOSE BARRACUDA (1-4)_**

##  **_TUESDAY OCTOBER 16_** ** _FHIRDIAD LIONS VS_** ** _BAKERSFIELD CONDORS (1-3)_**

##  **_TUESDAY OCTOBER 16 Week 3, Session 1_ **

Sylvain is buzzing. It’s been hours since the final horn sounded. Hours since he finished his cool down. Hours since he hit the showers. It’s been hours since the Lions defeated the top team in the division and still Sylvain’s entire body buzz. 

He’s played a lot of hockey games in his life. Most of them are lost to memory forever. Wins and losses alike lost to the abyss of time. Games that weren’t particularly good or bad just eventually to blurs. 

He remembers plenty of course. He remembers the elation of being 13 and making it to state. The pure unbridled joy of upsetting Minnesota and making it to the Frozen Four. 

Of course, he also remembers the knife to the gut after losing in the semi-final. Of missing the penalty shot that would have tied the game in his last game in high school. Of letting a two-goal lead slip away in the final 15 minutes of an elimination game. 

Then there are the memories that are simply unique enough to hold on to. The dressing room door lock that had failed and refused to let their team out. Sophomore year of college getting to play outdoors in front of thousands of people. Scoring short-handed in the scrimmage against the national development squad. His first-ever pro game where he’d barely stepped on the ice before tripping over his own feet. 

Objectively this game doesn’t fit into any of these categories. It was a win, sure, but it wasn’t a shutout and it wasn’t a blowout and it wasn’t against a team no one ever thought they could beat. And yet it’s fighting for a spot in his all-time top ten games. 

The only thing perhaps notable about the win was that they defeated the top team in the division. Admittedly they’re not very far into the season yet and over time Sylvain has gotten better at not caring about standings, but still, it feels damn good. 

Across the table from him, Felix sits, tucked comfortably into a black coat that is at least two sizes too large for him. The front half of his still-damp hair is hurriedly pulled up and out of his face. He’s slumped as if tired and Sylvain can’t blame him, he played an amazing 60 minutes and stopped 37 of the 38 shots he faced, but even still, his eyes are bright and sharp as they dash between his spread open menu and Sylvain’s face. 

“Hmm?” 

Felix says in what Sylvain takes as a cue for him to speak.

“What a game eh?” They don’t normally see much of each other once they leave the dressing room on game days. They’ll talk to the press, finish their cooldowns and then they go their separate ways. Tuesday games are rare but Felix had turned down Sylvain’s offer to reschedule around it and honestly Sylvain is a little grateful for it.

It’s admittedly not the easiest thing in the world to make a consistent daily or weekly schedule when playing professional hockey but the closer he comes to having one the better his mental health. 

Felix wraps his left index finger with his own hair and tugs as he tips his head, “So you do like winning.” 

Sylvain frowns, “Of course I like winning,” You’d be hard-pressed to find any kind of athlete at any level that doesn’t like winning. Of course, he likes outscoring an opponent and earning points in the standings as much as the next. 

He hates losing for all the same reasons that other people do but he also hates losing for reasons of his own. 

He hates watching the guilt everyone carries after a loss. In some ways over time, the people he plays with have gotten better at losing. Less likely to throw a temper tantrum in the dressing room. Less likely to blame things they can’t control. Less likely to cuss out the officials (justified or not) for calls that may or may not have changed the outcome of the game. Arguably better at letting go of the outcome of one game and focusing on the next. 

But still. That anger still has to go somewhere. That guilt doesn’t just vanish into thin air. And from what Sylvain has observed over the years is that, the better the player, the more likely they are to turn that inward on themselves. Forwards think they should have scored another goal, defensemen think that they should have stopped the forwards, goalies think that they should have made another save. 

And sure, maybe they should have. There is something to be said for holding yourself accountable for your play. Especially at an elite level, there is always someone else who is waiting to get the job done if you won’t. So there are some losses that inspire actual productive change out of frustration. But sometimes it’s not that. 

It’s just unproductive anger and guilt where everyone suddenly forgets that they’re part of a team. Where everyone independently thinks that if they just train harder, longer, more, they can single handedly save the team. And Sylvain can’t keep up with that. He can’t. He’s good but he’s not the best. Where he excels is playing smarter not harder. But he can’t do that alone. He needs teammates that are acting rationally. And when they’re not Sylvain comes dangerously close to relapsing into the bitter, jealous and malicious person he was in high school. 

He hates that. He hates himself. 

So he likes winning. He likes being in a room full of people who work together and are driven to be better and go farther as a team. 

He struggles to articulate any of that, “Well, there’s just something about games like these. Where something clicks and it just feels right. Like, you’re working hard, hell you’re working harder than ever but at the same time, it feels easy? That 2-on-1 in the 2nd? God! What a beauty.” 

Felix clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth but it doesn’t hide his amused smile, “Well this is certainly an inversion. Aren’t you the one normally bugging me to shut up about hockey?” 

Sylvain’s heart speeds up as he blushes, “Is this you telling me to shut up about hockey?” 

Felix clamps his mouth shut but shakes his head. 

The waiter comes and takes their order, Felix straightening his spine with a set of cracks that sends a chill throughout every inch of Sylvain’s body. 

The waiter leaves them and Felix punctuates his departure with a sickening pop of his knuckles, “You had fun out there didn’t you?” 

“Yeah. I did. What about you?” 

Sylvain watches. Careful, curious. He hopes, he prays that Felix still has fun playing hockey. That even after all of these years of hardships he remembers that the reason that they play is because they want to. They choose too. 

But after what he said, after what he said about dying as a hockey player because he doesn’t know how to do anything else, Sylvain is scared that he doesn’t. 

At least as Sylvain watches this time, Felix loses the battle to keep a smile off of his lips and he nods, a small shy gesture as if he can’t quite believe it’s true either, “Mmmm hmmm.” 

“Good.” 

Felix laces his fingers together but when he pushes through they stay silent, “Doesn’t having your goal taken away bother you?” 

Sylvain hums, “Well it wasn’t disallowed. It was reassigned. Still counted as a good goal.” 

“But not  _ your  _ goal.” 

Despite being the one who took the shot. Despite all of his teammates on the ice coming and surrounding him in a hug, despite being the first one to get high fives from the bench, on paper, it’s Dimitri’s goal. 

And he’s fine with it. Really. But Felix still looks bothered.

“Hey, I still got an assist out of it. It’s not like I was going for the league or team scoring title, I make my money on assists anyway.” 

He stares across the table, Felix stares back, unconvinced. Sylvain shrugs. “I mean really, if they say it touched Dimitri’s stick, then it touched his stick. There’s not really much I can do about it.” 

“I suppose.” 

“I took a shot from the point and we managed to get a goal out of it. Right now that’s enough for me to be happy.” 

“Ah. Of course. The ‘team-first’ mentality.” 

Felix says it in a way that’s surprisingly difficult for Sylvain to read. In general, he finds that Felix is fairly straightforward, he doesn’t bother hiding when he doesn’t like something. But this, this is interesting, his tone seems genuine enough but it’s accompanied with an eye-roll that Sylvain can’t quite explain. 

“Yeah. And I’ll score more goals eventually throughout the season.” 

“Will you?” 

“I like to think so.” 

With enough time on special teams units, he’s bound to get a couple of lucky shots on goal that forwards don’t tip with their own sticks. 

Felix’s left eyebrow raises, “Guess we’ll see about that.” 

“Guess we will.” 

Sylvain laughs uneasily. 

“What’s funny?” Felix’s expression is unimpressed.

“Nothing. It’s just that it reminds me of that question that scouts sometimes ask ‘Would you rather play one, sixty goal season or ten, six-goal seasons?'’’ 

He was never high enough ranked as a teenager to get invited to the combine but he’s still talked to his fair share of college and professional scouts. 

He still remembers being asked and he still remembers totally freezing up. He’d stammered his way through some vague noncommittal bullshit about loving hockey and wanting to play hockey for a long time but also wanting to be the best player he can be and wanting to contribute to the team as much as possible. 

He assumes he’s not alone in finding this difficult to answer. He assumes that he’s not the only person who desperately wants to give the correct answer. But which is it? Intuitively, scouts are looking for players to build their team, they want players who know how to smoothly integrate into an existing team, so by that logic, the correct answer is the team first answer. But which is that?

Is it selfish or selfless to want to score sixty goals in a single season? It would make you a star, a star of the team, and probably the league as well, so that seems like self-interest. But on the other hand, if you’re scoring sixty goals, that’s averaging almost a goal a game, certainly, you’re contributing to the team’s overall success in other ways right? Right? In which case perhaps it is selfless to give up the opportunity to have a long career to have one monster season that might be the X factor that the team needed to go all the way. 

As for the other option, there are still many questions. No player has ever wanted to score fewer goals, sure. No player ever wants to feel like they’re just a drag to the team, taking up a roster spot that could go to someone better. It’s a very real fear. But, but, it’s only goals. There’s nothing in the question statement about assists, about plus/minus about any of the countless qualities that can’t be captured on a scoresheet. 

It’s really impossible for him to say. He doesn’t have enough information to reach a definite conclusion and it still haunts him to this day that they asked him to. 

He’d returned to his apartment in a daze, still rambling incoherently to himself. Ingrid, bless her, had pulled him over to the couch and placed his head in her lap and as she ran her fingers through his curls said _“Sy. You’re overthinking it.”_

Which, fair. He absolutely was overthinking it. But overthinking things is kind of his brand. He overthinks things so fucking hard that he acts in a way that convinces people he’s never actually had a reasonable thought in his life. 

While he was going through a whole crisis, other people answered the question. 

He drinks to keep himself from overthinking and so, in turn, he does too much of that as well. 

Sylvain realizes that he’s starting to slip away from the conversation and so he forces himself to focus on Felix, who’s face is contorted in confusion, “I’m a goalie. I don’t score goals.” 

_ You could.  _ Sylvain immediately thinks. They’re few and far between but someone has to be the next goalie to score a goalie goal in the AHL. There’s no reason that it couldn’t be Felix. In fact, he’s seen Felix’s shot, and he’s almost certainly ahead of the average goaltender. 

But that’s beside the point and it’s not worth arguing over technicalities, “Fine, ‘would you rather play one season and win the cup or play ten seasons and never win the cup?’.” 

He supposes that it isn’t entirely fair. This is an easier question. Young hockey players would say they’d do anything to win the cup. If a scout asked he’s pretty sure there are people who would say that they'd sell an arm and a leg for a chance to win the cup. 

Oh. The coach. Their head coach who had thrown everything he had into his career and taken the NHL by storm, but was forced into retirement at 23 with a prosthetic leg and no ring or cup to show for his efforts. 

Felix remains baffled, “What?”

Sylvain waves his hands, dismissing the previous question, “Oh wait, I’ve got it. Would you rather go a whole season without a loss but also without a shutout or go a season with multiple shutouts but also multiple losses.” 

Recognition finally crosses Felix’s face and he tips his head as he considers his options for a solid three seconds, “I don’t know. I’m not really big on sports psychology.” 

“I almost went into sports psychology in college.” It had been a very brief moment in time before Penn State had stepped in and asked him to play for them, but yes technically Sylvain once thought he’d aim for a Masters in Sports Psychology.

Felix raises a skeptical eyebrow, “What did you do instead?” 

An inexplicable wave of smugness hits Sylvain as he answers, “Classics and Ancient Mediterranean Studies.” 

“That’s not a real thing.” 

Sylvain’s knee bangs against the table as he shifts his weight, “That’s what my parents said when I told them too but I have a piece of paper that says otherwise.” 

Like most good things in his life, studying in Classics was Ingrid’s idea. His initial plan had been to be a Pure Math major but ultimately decided he didn’t want to be a math person forever and so he turned to reading the full catalog of majors, something he imagines not many people have actually done. 

Ingrid had suggested Classics and Ancient Mediterranean Studies as a joke. He knew nothing of it, his world, his studies had always been looking forward, not back. But the more he read about it, the more he had to admit that it sounded like fun. 

And so, with that smile that says she knows more than you, Ingrid had looked him in the eyes and said: _“If you want to do it, you should.”_

So he did. 

Felix absently wrings his hands, “So if you weren’t playing hockey you’d be...What exactly does someone with a Classics and Ancient Mediterranean Studies major do?” 

Unsurprisingly, it’s a commonly asked question, “Lots of things. Archelogy. Education. Law. Academia. There are plenty of options.” 

Honestly, it has amazed him when he’d learned about just how many career possibilities there were from his major. As much as he doesn’t want to be his father, the idea of shutting those doors still scared the living hell out of him and so knowing that was also opening new ones was a breath of fresh air.

“Really?” The word drips with skepticism but there’s a genuine curiosity in Felix’s gaze as he studies Sylvain. 

“What? I don’t seem like a person who would go into academia or teaching?”

Once, just for kicks, Dorothea tested out calling him Professor, and it ended with them both on the ground laughing so hard they could barely breathe. 

A flash of horror crosses Felix’s face, “Absolutely not.” 

“Thanks.” 

Felix returns his gaze back down to his plate, “Anyway don’t most college athletes major in something like business or econ? Figured that would be more your speed.”

Sylvain exhales harshly through his nose. It almost certainly would have been easier. He ended up becoming a tutor for classes he hadn’t even taken. He’d left the math major behind but it turned out that economics with calculus was a bigger challenge than many unsuspecting hockey players had been ready for. 

“I, well, some do yeah. But uh, my father is a politician. Third generation politician. They wanted me to go to college, meet a girl, and follow suit.” 

The problem that the majors that are common for student-athletes also are majors that seem to point him back in the direction that his parents picked for him. 

“Did you seriously just pick a college major just to piss off your parents?”

“No! Not  _ just _ to piss off my parents. If it was just to piss off my parents I would have majored in Turfgrass Science.” He’d built a list, a list of all the most ridiculous majors that would piss off his parents. There had been something therapeutic about it, about realizing that even without hockey, even without his parents’ guidance, there is still so much to do in the world. 

“That’s not a real thing,” Felix repeats this time with more certainty. 

“Oh, it is,” Sylvain pauses to cackle at the memory of discovering it for the first time, “I kinda wish I did major in it just so that I could take pictures of people’s faces when I show them my diploma from  Pennsylvania State University for a Bachelor’s Degree in Turfgrass Science. Make a career out of selling those photos.”

Felix gives a long tug at his hair, “I still don’t buy it. I think it’s something they put in the pamphlet to fuck with the like two people that actually bother to read the whole thing.” 

“Who knows. You might be right. Anyway, I did like studying CAMS. I got to learn Latin. I got to spend the summer in Greece. It’s cool stuff, just not New York Politician stuff.”

He's saved from having to try and explain what exactly that means by the arrival of their steaming plates of food.

Felix goes quiet and Sylvain takes a moment to appreciate it. There was a time, a time not that long ago when Sylvain was terrified of these silences. That every time Felix went quiet he was filled with the urge to fill the silence. But they’re less scary now. 

“Did your brother do what your parents wanted?” 

Ah, well so much for not scary silences.

“Half brother,” he corrects automatically. Despite being more similar to Miklan in many ways than he likes to admit to himself, he’s fallen into the routine of making sure that everyone knows they only share one biological parent, “No. He’s not my father’s biological son. They don’t get along. Actually they just straight up don’t acknowledge the other exists.” 

Something glints in Felix’s eyes as he sits up straighter, all traces of fatigue gone from his body, “Oh, like you.” 

“Ouch,” Sylvain absently traces across his heart with his right index finger, “No, I acknowledge that he exists.” 

It’s hard not to with the grip that Miklan still has on his mind.

“Do you though?” Felix’s water glass splashes precariously as he leans forward across the table. 

“Have you ever heard of ‘If you don’t have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all’?” 

Felix’s entire face lights up with an emotion akin to delight or at least amusement, “Oh! Oh, you’re mad.” 

“I’m not mad.” Sylvain snaps back with entirely too much edge to make his point at all convincing. 

“You’re mad. I’ve seen you get heated on the ice but this is different.” 

Just hours earlier, Sylvain picked up a Condor’s player by the collar of his jersey and tossed him from the crease with disgust. The opposing player had lost an edge and toppled on top of Felix and when Felix hadn’t instantly popped to his feet, Sylvain saw red and that was that. 

Needless to say, the other Condors hadn’t taken kindly to their teammate being flung like garbage, and well, if the ref hadn’t gotten his arms wrapped around Sylvain’s body extremely quickly, he wouldn’t have been surprised to find himself in the box for roughing. 

But it’s true. This is different. He’s not seeing red, he doesn’t just want to swing his fists like whenever someone takes a cheap hit on one of his teammates. This is deeper anger, something rooted, and gripping his entire being. It’s vicious and cruel and makes him want to say a dozen cruel things that he doesn’t actually mean. 

He’s pretty sure it’s always been a part of him. He takes a deep breath.

“Look. My mom was 16 when she got pregnant with my brother. She wasn’t ready to be a mother so she gave him to his biological father. She pulled her shit together, graduated high school, went off to college, and married a young up and coming politician. They completed their perfect family with a perfect son.” 

Felix’s lips quirk to the side, “You think pretty highly of yourself.” 

Sylvain forces himself not to growl, “It’s an expression.” 

“I know. So what happened with your brother?” 

Sylvain takes a moment. What’s the point in giving an answer? Does Felix care? Does it matter if Felix cares? They’re already playing miles better than they were when the season started and despite everything that’s happened since then, that’s the reason that they’re here. So why not continue to lie and deflect? It’s worked so far. And yet, and yet. 

“When I was like 5, he was about 13 he came into my life. I guess he heard that his mom married rich and was tired of living with his deadbeat dad. So he moved in with us.” 

“I’m going to go out on a limb and say that that didn’t go as well as it could have,” 

“Wow. You’re incredible.” Sylvain barely recognizes his own voice behind the bitterness. He looks up to see if Felix has recoiled, and to his surprise, he hasn’t. 

“Fuck off,” Felix mutters but it’s not particularly vicious. 

“Isn’t this fun?” Sylvain offers as he laughs without humor in an attempt to get his heart rate back under control. 

“You don’t scare me.” 

“What?” He asks, because, despite the long list of things he thought it was possible Felix was thinking about saying to him. That was not on it.

“You don’t scare me,” Felix repeats, “Every time you say something mildly more aggressive than you normally are, you look at me like you’re scared you wounded me. But you don’t scare me.” 

Huh. Is he really that obvious? Or is Felix really that observant. Either way, it’s a surprise. 

“Maybe you scare me.” 

“Do I?” 

Sylvain waits a beat, “I don’t know.” 

“Then why don’t you keep talking and find out?” 

Sylvain exhales a half laugh, half sigh, “Right. I was 5, I was just a child and I was thrilled about the idea of having an older brother. I’d grown up with it just being me and my parents and they were nice enough when they were around but I wanted a brother to share everything with. Turned out he was less interested in sharing than I was.” 

He remembers how in the weeks before, his parents had been whispering and exchanging worried looks even more than usual and he’d been scared. But then he’d learned that he had an older brother and more than anything he’d been confused because his parents were acting like it was bad news and he couldn't comprehend how having an older brother could possibly be bad news. 

“He was jealous?”

“You could certainly say that.” 

There are a lot of things that you can say about Miklan about even Sylvain isn’t entirely sure which ones are true. 

He knows for certain that the life Miklan was given wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that he was raised by someone who treated him like shit, and it wasn’t fair that his adoptive father looked straight through him, and it wasn’t fair that his mother was on the verge of tears most of the time she looked at him. 

But, was it fair for him to take it out on Sylvain? Just a child who could not possibly understand the complexities of the situation?

And young Sylvain had been so naive, so stupidly naive that present Sylvain chastises his former self. 

He’d been so blinded by the idea of having a big brother, a companion, a playmate that he’d been too lenient. He didn’t cry when Miklan broke his toys or whine about the bruises when they wrestled too hard. 

And maybe some of that was fine. It was kids being kids and the eight-year age difference coming into play. And so no one noticed that whenever Miklan, Sylvain jumped but it always ended with him getting burned. 

Even as he got older, old enough to probably know better, Sylvain remained uncannily quick to forgive and forget any harm that his brother did. He could deal with a little bit of hurt in exchange for a little bit of validation. 

So by the time they were 15 and 22, the seeds of self-destruction were rooted deep in Sylvain’s chest. He did the stupid shit Miklan told him to. Even when his life was in danger. Even when his grades started tanking. Even when he was on the verge of expulsion from his fancy-ass prep school. 

It had been his coach, his coach who had evidently been watching Sylvain closer than he’d thought, who had pulled him aside after a particularly self-destructive episode and without beating around the bush, told him to get his shit together. He’d said, “He isn’t worth it. I don’t care if he’s your brother. He isn’t worth throwing your life away over. You have too much potential to spend your time acting like this.” 

Sylvain hadn’t known how to respond other than to get defensive. Of course, it was worth it because even if it was bad attention, he was still getting attention from Miklan, And really, at the end of the day wasn’t that what he wanted? 

And his coach had then looked at him so sadly, so pityingly that it had physically hurt and said, “ _ Just because your family doesn’t love you the way that you deserve to be loved, doesn’t mean that you are unlovable.”  _

It hadn’t meant much at the time but he humored the coach and spent more time at the rink, more time with his teammates, and more time ignoring his brother’s calls. Then, just months later, they made it to State, and in that moment of glory, sandwiched between sweaty, exhausted, exuberant teammates, he’d known that it was the right choice. 

Hockey over blood. 

Across the table, Felix’s brow is furrowed as he struggles to make any sense out of Sylvain’s sudden silence, “Do you miss him?” 

Sylvain chokes on a partially formed laugh, “No.”

Once upon a time, the answer would have been different. Even through the end of high school, he’d still had half a hope that time apart would heal their wounds. That maybe he’d just been trying too hard and after a step away he’d have earned that respect he’d been chasing. 

But no. Alas, some dreams stay dreams. 

Anyway, he’s played for multiple teams since then, and with each one, he’s thrown himself in. He’s bled, and cried and hurt in a million different ways for each of them. And each time he does, every time he sheds blood protecting his teammates, it feels so much better than anything he ever did for his brother. He can’t imagine going back. 

“Oh,” Felix says. He doesn’t seem particularly surprised or angry but his head remains tilted slightly to his left. 

Sylvain’s mind puts the pieces together a half a second later than he would have preferred. Not a week ago, Felix looked up at him, exhausted and scared, and told him that his brother, their coach, was the only person he had left. Of course, it would be hard for him to comprehend Sylvain’s deep-seated loathing and insecurities. 

And this, this is the meat of his current problem. If Sylvain’s being totally honest with himself, which is not often the case but is possible, he knows he likes Felix. He likes Felix a lot. He’s cold and grumpy but it never fails to make Sylvain smile. He’s a fucking good goaltender and once you’re not crashing him every other shift, he's not a half-bad teammate either. Every minute they’re together, Sylvain wants to spend even more time with him. 

In other words, Sylvain is fucked. 

When they first started doing this, he’d wanted to be friends. He’d been determined that he could pull it off, he’d seen it as a challenge. But that was before they were both unspeakably vulnerable around each other and now, no matter how much he hates it, there’s jealousy in Sylvain’s mind. 

He’s jealous of the way that Glenn beams whenever Felix makes a particularly solid save. He’s jealous of the way that Felix leans in when Glenn taps him on the top of the mask after a game. He’s jealous of all the million little things they do that are so full of affection but Sylvain doubts they even notice they’re doing. 

There are few things he hates more than being jealous. He hates being jealous so fucking much because he never knows how it will make him act. He can be at his cruelest when he doesn’t even mean to. 

It’s a big part of the reason that he doesn’t date. If he only sleeps around, if he only sees people once, there’s no opportunity for him to get emotionally invested. And even if he does, it ultimately doesn’t matter what he feels. Sure it makes him an amazingly shitty person but at least he can pretend that it doesn’t matter who he ends up hurting because they just won’t be in each other’s lives anymore. 

But real friendship, or, god forbid, a real relationship doesn’t have that out. If he does something horrible, even if he doesn’t actually mean it, there will be consequences. And at the end of the day, nobody ever taught him how to deal with those. 

It had been Ingrid, who, after listening to Sylvain go on and on with astonishing patience who said, _“Don’t hurt him.”_

It hadn’t been an accusation as much as a warning. Ingrid is perhaps the only other person on earth who has really seen the devastation that Sylvain can cause up close. 

Neither of them wants that for Felix. 

“It’s okay,” Sylvain finds himself saying before he’s entirely sure why “I’m not lonely just because I don’t have my brother in my life anymore.” 

Felix hesitates before nodding, “Because you have the team now.”

His voice is as quiet as ever but Sylvain can’t help but notice that it’s gotten so much easier for him to understand what Felix is saying. 

“Because I have the team now,” Sylvain confirms. 

Sylvain goes quiet, curious if Felix has any more questions or comments for this particular line of thought. When Felix remains equally silent for a full minute, wordlessly handing his credit card over to the waiter, Sylvain exhales, relaxing so much that his body slumps against the table, shaking it enough that it knocks his now empty water glass to its side. Felix easily grabs it before it shatters upon the tile floor. 

“Fuck,” Sylvain hisses, the heel of his palm massaging over his racing heart as he admires Felix’s save, “Thanks.” 

“Mmm,” Felix says noncommittally. He places the glass safely back on the table and then relaxes into his own chair. He sinks back as if he too is releasing long-held tension. He uses a casual wave of his right hand to half-heartedly stifle a yawn. 

Sylvain groans as he wrestles with the urge to yawn, “Alright, fuck I’m tired.”

The right corner of Felix’s mouth twitches, “Wow it’s almost like actually playing hockey is physically and mentally demanding.” 

“Wait. That game was today?” Dinner has simultaneously passed in a flash and taken years off of Sylvain’s life and though his muscles ache with a fresh ache, the game from the afternoon feels like an almost lifetime ago at this point.

“Yes?” Felix days, though it comes out less certain that he presumably intended. 

“Okay, yeah. That makes sense and I am definitely heading straight for bed when I get home,” One of the unexpected benefits of being a professional hockey player that Sylvain has discovered is how easy it is to fall asleep, “Do you need a ride?” 

“No.” 

“No?” Sylvain does a very poor job of keeping the disappointment from his voice. Obviously he didn’t get to drive Felix home from his own house last Thursday and he’d been surprised how much that had mentally become part of their routine. 

“No,” Felix confirms. 

“Really? I just figured, I thought we had a thing.” 

Felix’s eyes widen at the concept of them having a thing, “Well if we did, I didn’t know about it. My ride's here so I should go. I’ll see you tomorrow at skate?” 

“Yeah,” He says, he plans to be at morning skate anyway, but if not then he’ll definitely be around for afternoon practice. 

Sylvain watches Felix go and notes the intertwined feelings of affection and Where the Hell Do We Go From Here deep in his gut. 

_‘Don’t hurt him_ ’, echoes in his mind, and Sylvain can only hope that he’s holding himself together well enough to keep that promise. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I love you!
> 
> Next time (hopefully back to a more normal schedule): Someone overworks himself to the point of exhaustion. Who it is will not surprise you!
> 
> Optional Reading/ watching: Please Enjoy Nashville Predators goaltender Pekka Rinne scoring the first NHL goalie goal since 2013   
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jvOImiJGGQw  
> https://www.espn.com/nhl/story/_/id/28456122/predators-pekka-rinne-becomes-12th-nhl-goalie-score-goal


	7. Week 3, Session 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felix takes a forced rest day, Sylvain reveals an unexpected skill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I hope you are still doing well!
> 
> This final quarter of school is passing at a very strange speed and I am now very sure that time isn't real. Almost in the home stretch!
> 
> There are some fictional Avalanche players mentioned in this chapter. JD Olsen is not a real guy, well, a real professional hockey player. If your name is JD Olsen and you're an up and coming hockey player, contact me and we'll work something out.

##  **_THURSDAY OCTOBER 18 Week 3, Session 2_ **

Felix is not sulking. Felix doesn’t sulk. He certainly wouldn’t sulk just because his older brother took one look at him, said  _ “No”,  _ and immediately sent him back to bed. And if that theoretically had happened, he certainly would not still be sulking about it hours later. 

He’s not sulking. He’s simply resting. Just like he was told to. Resting in bed surrounded by every blanket he could gather from around the room. 

So he’s tired, exhausted really which is so dumb because he knows for a fact that he’s trained longer and harder than this without feeling this fucking drained. 

He knows that Glenn blames himself for this. He’s Felix’s ride to and from the rink but as head coach, Glenn is almost always the first person to arrive and the last person to leave. He spends hours holed up in his office, which gives Felix perhaps too much time to run free, if not on the ice then in the weight room, training. Alone and unsupervised. 

Pushing his body just a little too hard every day until he wakes up one day with his hips locked up and killer knots in his back and just feeling overall bad as every inch of him cries, ‘ _Enough!’_. 

And so while technically he understands why he’s on a mandated rest day, it did not stop him from bitching about it over text to Lys. There had been something oddly comforting about her blunt lack of sympathy. 

It’s been a long weird day. Jeritza at least was kind enough to send a shortlist of stretches to do so that his muscles aren’t even more sore come tomorrow. The knots have loosened to tolerable levels and he can walk again without feeling dangerously close to passing out. 

He napped which he normally ever does on game days and he watched baseball which was equally strange. 

Flayn flooded his phone with photos of the new kittens she and Seteth are fostering which Felix supposes was supposed to make him feel better but instead, just has him wondering why the fuck they didn’t foster kittens when he was still living with them.

“Hey.” 

Felix looks up borderline panicked because Holy Shit, for the second time in as many weeks, Sylvain Gautier has entered his house without him noticing. How in the actual hell does this keep happening?

“What are you doing here?” He asks, not bothering to hide any of his surprise, “I’m sick.” 

It’s the same line that he used when Ashe, the only one of his teammates to go to him rather than directly to the coach, texted earlier. He likes how while it’s not fully true, it’s not completely a lie either. 

He’d like it even more if it worked in making people leave him alone. Unfortunately, Sylvain instead steps into Felix’s room. 

“I know. That’s why I have dinner. Coach let me up.” 

As he comes closer, Felix notices that Sylvain is remarkably subdued. He’s also dressed more casually than Felix has ever seen before. Lettering that spell out FHIRDIAD runs along the left leg of his baggy grey sweatpants and the back of his blue hoodie bears the number 94. 

“Oh did he now?”

Sylvain shifts his weight between his feet as he cracks a smile, “I may have had to trade him soup in exchange for safe passage.” 

“That sounds more like him.” 

“How are you feeling?” 

“Better.” 

It’s not the first time Felix has been ordered to take a day off while others practiced. He knows enough that the fact that he had been too tired to even argue with Glenn on the matter meant he really needed it. It’s frustrating as hell to admit but just the one extra day of rest has done wonders for his mind and body. 

Perhaps, this isn’t the worst thing. If he wants to be in for the long haul, and he’s just starting to think that maybe, just maybe he does, he has to start paying more attention to how he takes care of his body. 

“Better?”

“It’s nothing serious, just exhaustion really. I’ll be back tomorrow.” His brother might not be thrilled about that but they have a game on Saturday and he sure as fuck isn’t missing that so he needs to at least get a light workout in tomorrow.

Sylvain steps forward into the room, light falling on his face so that Felix can see the concern etched in his features, “You train too hard.” 

“Shut up,” Perhaps it’s true. In fact, it almost certainly is but Felix gets tired of hearing it over and over again when he’s just trying his best, “I’ve already heard it from my brother and my father and the rest of the coaching staff and the training staff, I don’t need to hear it from you as well.” 

“Your father?” Surprise widens Sylvain’s stare. 

“Yes. Apparently this was worth telling him about.” 

For as little as they talk these days, when Rodrigue does wish to make contact with Felix, he will not be ignored. 

Sylvain glances over his shoulder back at the hallway, “Is he back in town? Is he here?” 

“No. Don’t worry it was over text,” Felix pushes himself into a sitting position and puts on his most casual expression, “So, how was practice?”

Sylvain rubs at the back of his head with a nervous chuckle, “I am legally not allowed to tell you that.” 

“Oh come on. I’m on the team. As my teammate, isn’t it your duty to get me up to speed on what I missed in practice?”

Without invitation, Sylvain places a paper bag on Felix's desk and takes a seat before tentatively testing out the swivel feature, “As your teammate, I am very confident that there was no information shared that you don’t already know and so there is nothing that you need to know about.” 

“This is bullshit and I’m filing a complaint.” 

“Go ahead. Somehow I feel like the coaches are going to be on my side.”

Felix scowls, he supposes that his blanket mountain doesn’t make for the most imposing of settings for him to make threats from. 

“Jeritza won’t.” 

Not that Jeritza will be on his side either. Jeritza remarks a remarkable level of apathy for most things around his coworkers. Still, Felix respects him and gets the feeling that it’s at least partially mutual. As the goaltending coach, he serves as a buffer between Felix and the rest of the coaching staff. And since he’s the only member on the staff younger than Glenn, he’s also the coach Felix turns to when he’s feeling particularly petty towards his brother. 

“Fine. The coaches who aren’t Jeritza. Including your brother. Come on Felix, it’s literally only three weeks into the season and you’ve made yourself sick from fatigue. Everyone’s worried.” 

The concept of everyone being worried does something weird to Felix’s stomach and he’s not entirely sure if he likes it or not, “You’re the worst.” 

Sylvain shrugs, “Maybe. But I also brought you food.” 

Felix leans forward again trying to get a better view of the bag Sylvain brought with him but it’s just a generic grocery bag, “Where’d you go? If Glenn didn’t place the order this time?” 

Suddenly Sylvain takes his gaze anywhere that isn’t Felix, “I cooked.” 

His confidence drops an almost comical amount between the two words but Felix doesn’t laugh, “You? Really?” 

Sylvain forces himself to look at least a little offended with half a scowl, “Believe it or not I am not totally incapable of all things, I can cook. But yes, I did have help. I do live with two of our teammates who are brilliant in the kitchen.”

Realization sits heavy in Felix’s gut. Sylvain has been in his house twice now. Hell, Sylvain is sitting in his bedroom right this moment and yet Felix doesn’t even know where Sylvain lives. Doesn’t know about any room or housemates. Doesn’t even know if it’s a house or apartment. 

It’s rude. He knows that it’s rude and that he should try and be better. But honestly, he never thought he was going to care this much and now that he does, for some reason, care this much, he doesn’t know how to ask for that kind of information without sounding like a freak.

“Wait. You what?” 

Sylvain shrugs nonchalantly, “Well not with them exactly but in the same building. My apartment is directly above Ashe and Dedue’s. Technically I live alone but I spend a lot of time in their apartment.” 

“Of course you live alone.”

“Hey now.” Sylvain’s left-hand shoots out and slaps Felix’s right knee. Felix jumps, not because the impact hurt but because he hadn’t realized just how close they’re sitting.

“I didn’t realize that you hang out with them.” 

Really though, it shouldn’t be surprising. Of course, he would hang out with other people from the team. Sylvain is charismatic and entertaining if not always funny, and unlike Felix, he’s not brand new to the team. 

Meanwhile, the people that he talks to the most outside of the rink these days, are his older brother, who also happens to be his head coach, a girl that he met in physical therapy way back when, a couple guys from the sled hockey team that he never actually joined, and, the younger sister of his former captain. A truly stunning crew. 

“Dedue is my defense partner, of course, we hang out. A good defense partnership like a platonic soulmate. And Ashe is a good kid. I’ve learned a lot from both of them. Dedue was out running errands but Ashe helped me make the food. He also wanted to make sure you’re okay.” 

It’s a sweet sentiment Felix thinks. Which makes it weird that it stings a little bit. 

It’s not the first time that Felix has heard about the sanctity of the defense pair bond. Glenn too has gushed over defense partner after defense partner. And when he got called up to the Avs, it had only taken Glenn days to imprint on Chris. It wasn’t until almost a year after Glenn’s retirement that Felix learned that Chris and Glenn’s friendship verged on something deeper. 

He’s watched a lot of good defense pairs in front of him. In fact, on the ice, he has perhaps the best view possible to see just how beautiful good defense is. How elegant two people skating backwards together can really be. 

So he’s seen it. He’s seen it plenty but he’s never known what that bond feels like. And he’s fine with that. You play a solo position in a team sport for long enough, you get used to it. You get used to being lonely. Well, used to being lonely most of the time. 

On Tuesday Felix told Sylvain that he isn’t afraid of him. Not afraid of him or the vicious darkness that lurks beneath and occasionally rear’s its head. He’s not dumb or blind enough to act like it’s not there. And he had meant it. From where he stands, a man with demons inside is oftentimes less scary than one who insists that he doesn’t.

But he does have one fear. The fear that he’s been conned. That Sylvain saw him struggle through one conversation about his family and from there just decided to play a part. That this whole mutual vulnerability thing has just been something to do for entertainment before going back to his apartment and laughing about him with his defense partner/soulmate. 

“Do you talk about the same sort of stuff that we talk about with them?” 

“No. I don’t, I don’t dump this kind of stuff on them. It’s different. Friendships are different. They’re people I hang out with. We’re, well, you know.”

No. Felix thinks. He doesn’t know and that’s exactly the problem, “What are we?” 

Sylvain laughs, off rhythm and awkward, “I don’t know.” He admits, “I’d like-” he begins before shutting his mouth, “Nevermind. I don’t know.” 

“I see,” Felix hopes he doesn’t sound disappointed.

“It’s something to think about when we have the time.” Sylvain moves back to his feet. 

Somehow the concept of Sylvain leaving so soon had even occurred to Felix as a possibility, “Are you leaving?” 

“You need rest. I don’t want to keep you up.” 

“It’s Thursday.” 

“That it is.” 

Then Stay. Felix thinks. Prove to me that I’m more than just an errand. That this indescribable thing that we have is a good indescribable and not a bad indescribable. Stay because you want to. 

Felix, of course, says none of that, “Don’t you need to eat dinner too?” 

Sylvain sighs but sits back down and starts pulling round plastic containers out of the brown paper bag. While Sylvain takes the desk space, Felix shifts things around on his nightstand to make enough room to use it as a makeshift dinner table for one. 

Perhaps eating homemade soup out of plastic containers with plastic spoons is a shame but it at least still tastes good.

Sylvain goes quiet for what feels like the longest span of time that Felix can remember since the first weeks of them knowing each other. And he’s not even enjoying it. He’s too bothered by the nagging feeling that he’s done something wrong.

“Are you mad at me?” Felix asks though part of him isn’t sure he wants to know the answer. 

“Why would I be mad at you?” Sylvain answers, tone even and cold. 

It’s far from reassuring but Felix doesn’t have a response for that. Why would Sylvain be mad at him? He doesn’t know. So, even though he can't shake this fear that he's done something wrong, something to offend Sylvain, Felix has no choice but to drop it. 

Perhaps it was just fatigue and hunger that were making Sylvain act out of character, Felix thinks. Because after a few minutes and half a tupperware of soup later, Sylvain has relaxed, his shoulders no longer held impossibly stiffly, his mouth no longer pressed into a thin line. 

“Did you watch the Avs game?” His standard easy-going nature returns to his voice. 

Oh. Felix realizes. No, he didn’t. He hadn’t even thought about it. He tries to be a good student of the game. He tries to be a good member of the Avalanche organization. After all, what happens with the Avs directly impacts what happens with the Lions. There are players on the Avs roster who could be sent down and players on the Lions roster who could be called at any moment. Any injury to any player impacts both teams’ depth charts. If a forward gets injured, Dimitri could be gone from the Lions tomorrow. 

So he tries to watch most of the Avs games. Watches the truly elite players for ways to better his game. Watches the Avs to see what parts they’re missing and so what players they might poach from the Lions to fill those gaps and field a better team. 

But sometimes there are just too many memories, good and bad with him and that team that he just, he can’t. And so he doesn’t. 

“No,” he says, before adding with slight confusion, “I watched baseball.” 

“Oh.” 

“How was it?” 

“5-2 win,” Sylvain says with a smile but he doesn’t seem as happy as Felix would have expected for that score and result. 

“Nice.” 

Sylvain grabs the edge of the desk and says without looking up, “JD took an elbow to the head.” 

“That’s a major,” Felix says before his brain is entirely done processing. He will admit that officiating is hard. But there are some calls that shouldn’t be difficult. Hockey is dangerous my nature but it should never be more dangerous than it has to be. If you don’t lay down the law about elbows to the head, concussions in already concussion ridden sport will go through the roof. 

“It was. Major and ejection. Gabe scored twice on the powerplay.” 

“Good.” 

“The concussion spotter pulled JD right away too.” 

“Good. They have literally one job and still, sometimes they don’t do it.” 

“Yeah,” Sylvain softly agrees, “He cleared concussion protocol but coach said postgame he might be day to day with a shoulder injury. Should find out tomorrow if they’re calling anyone up.” 

Losing JD even for a short period of time could be pretty devastating for the Avs. He wears an A and has been a key member of the Avalanche defense core since even before Glenn joined the team. Filling that spot on the second defense pairing is as difficult as it is crucial.

“Guess we’ll find out.” 

Sylvain nods but before Felix can wonder if that’s that, Sylvain adds with great hesitation, “He’s a right-shooting defenseman. I’m a right-shooting defenseman.” 

“You’re our top right-shooting defenseman.”

Sylvain’s elbow nearly overturns Felix’s desk lamp, “I’m not.” 

“You’re literally on the first pair and shoot right.” 

“It’s not like whoever gets called up will be slotting directly into the lineup. They’d be sitting in the press box as the 7th D.” 

It’s a mostly fair argument. It’s hard to say exactly what will happen with the shuffle that comes from an injured player going out and a call up coming in. You’d expect the call-up to sit as a healthy scratch while the existing 7th defenseman slotted in where needed. But it’s also entirely possible for the call up to go straight in, especially if they’re a good enough substitute for the player they’re supposed to replace. No one can say for sure until the lineup forms are submitted.

“Have you been called up before?” 

“Once, for a game last year. Didn’t play but technically yeah I was part of an NHL team however briefly.” 

“See? You’ll be fine.” 

“Hey, we don’t even know if anyone is getting called up. Maybe JD will be just fine by tomorrow morning.” 

It’s almost comical, Felix thinks, that Sylvain is so confident in so many things, shows the most insecurities when it comes to hockey. The thing that he does professionally for a living. He’s so convinced that he’s inadequate at it, it’s almost unbelievable. 

No matter how much Felix used to bitch about him, from where he stands, there’s no denying that Sylvain is good. No other skater on the team logs as many minutes of ice time a night. The top d-pairing pulls heavy minutes and with his time on the top power-play unit he edges out his partner as well. 

“Maybe.” Felix hasn’t seen the game yet, hasn’t seen the hit or the post-game interviews, he has no reason to believe one way or another. 

“And if I did get called up it would probably only be for a couple of days. The Avs only have road games on Saturday and Monday so I'd be back in Colorado by Tuesday. Wouldn’t even mess with our week of coach’s mandated bonding.” 

Felix laughs at the nervous rambling, “That’s what you were worried about? Missing our little dinner sessions?” 

“You’re saying you wouldn’t miss spending time with me?” 

Sylvain winks and it’s bright and brilliant and suddenly Felix is no longer at all worried about the other’s insecurities.

“Not at all,” he shoots back, entirely unsure if it’s true or not. 

“Wow, see if I bring you homemade dinner next time you’re dying from exhaustion.” 

“Next time?” 

There are multiple things that make that odd. 

“Just because our required interactions are ending after this week doesn’t mean our friendship has to.” 

They will still continue to see each other. They’re teammates. Even Felix can’t be on a team without seeing all of his teammates once in a while. Things will change though and that is its own bag of worms that Felix is not quite ready to open up, “Hmmm.” 

They’ve both finished their soup. Or rather Sylvain has finished and Felix has finished as much as he can stomach right now and stuck the lid back on the container. 

Sylvain stands and presses his intertwined fingers toward the ceiling but unlike Felix’s spine and fingers and knees and hips and every other part of his body, which will not shut up if he moves at all, Sylvain’s joints don’t pop or crack. 

Felix watches with fascination as Sylvain sighs and leans against the doorframe. Felix cracks his own neck, which earns him a disgusted look in return. 

Suddenly tired again, Felix swings his legs onto the bed and flops backward against the mattress, making sure to scoot close enough to the edge he’d been sitting on that he’s left enough space for another person to come to lie next to him. 

And to his surprise, Sylvain comes and sits down next to him. 

Felix massages absently his hips. They’re no longer so stiff that he can barely move but they’re still sore with the familiar ache that’s been a constant throughout his years of butterfly goaltending. 

It’s not an easy position on the body. But it’s almost comforting, this hurt. He can’t imagine playing without it. 

Sylvain must be watching him because he suddenly says, “You know, I read an article that said that the majority of elite goaltenders are being overworked and getting injured because of it.” 

“You didn’t read an article, you saw a graph on Twitter.” 

Felix has seen the graph. Seen the data pointing to three/fourths of the goaltenders studied having noticeable groin or hip pain at some point during the season. To nearly two-thirds saying it had impacted their play ability at some point in that span. 

At his core it hadn’t been particularly surprising and yet he still didn’t know what to do with that information. 

“I saw a graph on twitter and then read the article linked in the tweet. Here, I’ll find the tweet.” 

Sylvain hands Felix his phone, and though Felix is far from the mood to read anything about the human body, he takes the phone in his hands and stares at the familiar graph. The graph that tells him he’s not alone in his constant aches. 

He stares and before he has to put together a semi-intelligent thought of the matter, a text notification arrives at the top of the screen.

_ Ingrid: Sy before you say anything, know that I _

The preview cuts off but Felix pulls the bar down to read the full thing:

_ Ingrid: Sy before you say anything, know that I checked your game schedule and I know you’re on a homestand next week _

Before he can make out what that’s supposed to mean, more messages come in.

_ Ingrid: I’m playing in Boulder on Wednesday _

_ Ingrid: Flying in on Tuesday afternoon actually _

_ Ingrid: So if you want to meet up, that’s our chance, grab dinner or something? _

“Hey,” Sylvain leans over, “What are you doing? Give me my phone back.” 

Felix relents and relaxes his grip on the phone, “It’s Ingrid.” 

“What?” 

“It’s Ingrid, she’s coming to Colorado next week. For a game.” 

Sylvain scans the messages, “Oh! Neat.” 

“Are you going to go?” 

Felix still isn’t positive about what Sylvain and Ingrid’s relationship is. He knows they’re close. From anecdotes that he’s overheard Sylvain tell, he’s pretty sure they lived together for some period of time when Sylvain was still in college. But beyond that? He has no clue.

“I mean,” Sylvain begins before immediately trailing off.

“It’s on a Tuesday.” The last Tuesday that they’re required to spend together. Of course, this would be when a friend that Sylvain hasn’t seen in months would come to town. 

“Yeah,” Sylvain hesitates, “What about you?” 

“Huh?” 

“You want to go?” 

Felix frowns, “Go where?” 

“Do you want to grab dinner with Ingrid?” 

“Me?” 

“Yes, well the two of us,” Sylvain shifts his weight into a sitting position and leans back against the headboard, “The two of us meet up with Ingrid and grab dinner and catch up on Tuesday night. Figure that would be fun. I mean, if you want to.” 

Felix can’t believe that Sylvain is actually inviting him out to spend time with him and his...Ingrid. And perhaps even more surprising is that yeah, it does sound fun. 

He misses Ingrid. He misses her a lot. He still carries guilt for going radio silent on her when he vanished to Sweden. He hadn’t meant to cut her out of his life. But he’d cut everyone out and she’d gone with them. 

But holy fuck he had missed her. As kids there had been no one, not even Dimitri, not even his father who could shoot on him for longer than Ingrid could without getting sick of it. Of course, no one, not even Dimitri, not even his father, scored quite as many goals on him as Ingrid did.

They’d had matching dreams of Olympic gold, and winning Cups, Isobel, and Stanley alike. They’d had dreams of being the best. 

Felix gave up his chance to play for Olympic gold when Glenn got sick. And now, if he makes the NHL sooner, rather than later and the NHL still refuses to send athletes, he might never get the chance again. 

Ingrid, he knows, has lived up to her dreams of being the best. The NWHL draft will come around in half a year, the scouting reports have her going as high as first overall but certainly no lower than fourth. 

Come next year, just like them, she’ll be a professional hockey player. And her league will let her go be part of the Olympic team that she’s all but a shoe in to make. 

She’s all grown up and so close to achieving the dreams that they’d shared as children. And he missed so much of the journey. 

The idea of reuniting with her. With Ingrid who is grown and has a girlfriend, a serious long-term girlfriend, and preparing for real adulthood. It’s terrifying but also thrilling. 

“Yes. I’d like that. I mean if she’s okay with me coming along.” 

Sylvain beams, “Believe me, kid, she wants to see you too.” 

“You’ll text her about it?” 

Sylvain taps rapidly on his screen, “Yeah. Alright, babes, it’s a date. Tuesday. All three of us.” 

Felix shivers and tries to disguise it by burrowing into his comforter. Sylvain lets the hand holding his phone crash down to the bed as he slides down from where he was propped up to be fully on his back. 

Sylvain gives one long exhale before falling into a slow, steady, and deep rhythm. Felix looks over and is surprised to see that Sylvain’s eyes are closed and he rests with his arms open, shockingly vulnerable and exposed. Normally Sylvain is always so alert, always so aware of his person, that seeing him here, not asleep but well on his way, is noteworthy. 

This close Felix can see that Sylvain’s hair is not one color like he’s always assumed is actually composed of at least four different shades. At its lightest, it’s a brilliant copper that catches what little light remains in the room with an angelic glow and at its darkest, it’s a deep brown that holds hardly any brown whatsoever. 

It all comes together in his gentle waves and curls. Mixing in the peaks and valleys of his hair, the various colors adding depth and softness that Felix has never noticed before. 

Felix watches Sylvain’s chest rise and fall with peaceful rhythm and is struck with an inexplicable urge to rest his head on top of him and be lulled to sleep himself. 

What he does instead, is elbow Sylvain in the ribs, albeit more gently than he would have previously, “Are you falling asleep? In my bed?” 

“No,” Sylvain insists even as he very nearly rolls off of the edge of the bed in an uncontrolled descent. 

“You know this house does have like 18 spare bedrooms if you do you want to take a nap.” 

“I’ll be fine.”

Sylvain winces as he glances towards the door.

“What?” 

“I don’t think your brother likes me.” 

Felix pushes from the bed and stands up to fix Sylvain with a bewildered glance, “Are you kidding me? You get more minutes per game than literally any other player.” 

“I mean yeah, he respects me as a player. He’s a good coach, he can separate personal and professional opinions. I’m not sure he likes me as a person.” 

“Well, give him time. I didn’t like you at first either but now-” Felix cuts himself off and pointedly focuses his gaze on the empty wall.

Sylvain grins, and Felix growls as Sylvain’s metaphorical trap snaps shut on his metaphorical ankle.

“Sorry, what were you saying? Somehow about how you didn’t like me before but now...could it be now you actually do like me?” 

Felix hisses as he continues to aggressively avoid eye contact, “I...tolerate your presence.” 

“Aw. I tolerate your presence too.” 

Despite the teasing lilt to it, Felix feels a warmth that he can’t explain behind Sylvain’s words.

Sylvain stands, frozen midway to the door, and Felix sees an opportunity, and recklessly decides to grab it with both hands, “Do you need a ride home?” 

After a sharp exhale, Sylvain pivots slowly around to face Felix, his mouth holding still in a silent O. Finally, with a disbelieving but not angry laugh, he spits “Fuck you.” 

Felix shyly rubs at his pant legs, “I thought you’d appreciate that one.” 

The wall gives an unhappy creak as Sylain lets his shoulder thud against it to lean, “I thought you said we didn’t have a thing about that.” 

Felix shrugs, “Maybe I changed my mind.” 

“You’re impossible,” Sylvain says with a horribly fond smile, “It’s not that long of a drive back to my place. Somehow I think I’ll make it.” 

He makes it all the way to the door before pausing again, “Do you need any help with all of this?” He gestures vaguely at the remaining plastic containers of soup, “I still have plenty at my place so you’re doing me a favor by holding onto it.” 

“No, I’ve got it. It’s fine, I can take it to the kitchen no problem.” 

Sylvain nods, “Well then. Good night Felix. Feel better.” 

Oh right. He’s supposed to be sick. Or at the very least too exhausted to practice. He hasn’t felt either of those things in the last several minutes. 

“If you don’t get called up and have to fly to Florida will I see you at optional skate tomorrow?” 

A smile starts to creep onto Sylvain’s lips, “You’re going?” 

Felix doubts that Glenn is dumb enough to try and keep him from the rink two days in a row when he’s not actually seriously ill or injured but even if anyone does try, Felix at least now has enough energy to push back, “Try and stop me.” 

Sylvain rolls his shoulders back and straightens his posture as much as possible, “Then yeah, for sure. Someone has to make sure you’re not overworking yourself.” 

Felix picks up the bag of leftovers and channels Sylvain out into the hallway. 

“I’m holding you to that.” 

“Same. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

They turn opposite ways at the end of the hall; Sylvain left, towards the entryway, Felix right towards the kitchen. As Sylvain vanishes into the night, Felix hopes to all hell that JD Olsen’s shoulder injury does not mean a long term absence from the Avalanche roster. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!  
> Next time: Ingrid comes to visit!!! Adulthood is contemplated. (I have been waiting for So Long to get here)  
> I do have a sneaking suspicion the chapter might end up even longer than normal and take a little bit of extra time but we'll see. 
> 
> Optional Reading: more women's hockey stuff next week but the NHWL draft happened last week and so learn a little about this year's top draft picks!  
> https://thehockeywriters.com/nwhl-2020-draft-night-1-recap/
> 
> Also, yes, it was blink and you miss it but that was in fact, Christophe Gaspard referenced as Glenn's former defense partner. I'm not if it'll come up again so let's pay our respects now, he's not dead, he just got traded and is with the Oilers now ;-).


	8. Week 4, Session 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ingrid comes to visit. Get yourself a best friend like Ingrid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! It's been three weeks again I'm sorry! Thank you for being patient! I'm in the last 3 weeks of the quarter now!
> 
> Hope everyone is still doing well!
> 
> There is a lot of Ingrid in this one folks! This chapter is longer than the others because it includes a guest.

##  **_SATURDAY OCTOBER 20 FHIRDIAD LIONS @ MILWAUKEE ADMIRALS (6-5 SO)_ **

##  **_TUESDAY OCTOBER 23 Week 4, Session 1_ **

“You’re late.” 

Sylvain doesn’t have to check the time to know that’s not true. Even so, he twists his left arm and glances at his watch, “Am not. We said 7:30.” 

Ingrid smiles with a glint in her eyes, “10 minutes early is still late Sy,” She casually quotes at him. 

“Get in the car.” 

The passenger door swings open and Ingrid climbs in. Despite the lingering scent of the airport clinging to her clothing, everything about her is familiar and comforting. She’s dressed in tight black jeans and an equally well worn and well loved Penn State Hockey sweatshirt. Sylvain’s matching one sits in the back seat. Her hair is down which is a rarity. 

Though clearly exhausted from a day full of class then travel, Ingrids seems more comfortable than she ever had in her neatly kept high school uniform. She had always tried so hard to be neat and proper and prove that she belonged but it had never sat quite right on her. Like she was trying to suppress the best parts of her. 

But now, every time he sees her, she’s more comfortable in her body, with herself and her entire being. Not just the parts she’d thought society would accept. He knows it isn’t easy, balancing her senior year of college, the national team and being captain of the school team. He knows it’s not easy because sometimes she calls, heartbreakingly close to tears, saying that she can’t do it. 

But she does. She does it and every day blooms brighter and steps further into adulthood. It might be cheesy but there’s still a part of Sylvain that wants to be just like her when he grows up. 

“Hey,” Sylvain greets, waiting for Ingrid to fasten her seatbelt, before pulling away from the front of the hotel, “Your team didn’t give you trouble for ditching them for the evening?” 

“Well,” Ingrid pauses, “I mean I told them I had family in the area I needed to visit. Not like I was lying either.” 

Sylvain chuckles to disguise the affection stirring within him, “They grow up so fast.” 

“What are you talking about?” 

“I’ve known you since you were yay high,” He uses his right hand to tap lightly on Ingrid’s head, “Well, I mean, I suppose you’re still about yay high.” 

“Screw you,” Ingrid retorts, her tone unimpressed but her eyes and mouth still grinning, 

“Yeah yeah.” 

“So,” Ingrid straightens up in her seat, “What’s for dinner?” 

Sylvain feigns injury, “Figures, no, ‘how have you been Sylvain?’ ‘I’ve missed you, Sylvain?’” 

Ingrid faces him, eyes narrowed, “Depends. What’s for dinner?” 

“Good food. Nothing too fancy. Don’t worry about it.” 

Sylvain knows Ingrid well enough to know that she’d be satisfied with pretty much any answer that he could give but he did go out of his way to try and pick someplace better than just okay. 

“Alright fine. I will make the potentially disastrous decision to trust you on this.”

“Thank you.” 

“Don’t thank me yet,” Ingrid warns. 

Sylvain takes a long inhale and proceeds on to a potentially more tumultuous conversation.

“How’s Thea?” 

“Thea is good,” Ingrid says almost without hesitation.

It’s been over six months since Dorothea confirmed that she had no intention of playing professionally. Six months since the bombshell that threatened to tear apart their entire relationship. 

They’ve since recovered. Gone back to normal, or as close as they can get but Sylvain still remembers how bad it was at its height. Remembers how helpless he’d felt as Ingrid cried in his lap. He’d never been one to stick it out when the going gets rough and so he’d been at a total loss for advice to offer. 

Sylvain knows that Ingrid fell in love with Dorothea on the ice. Fell in love when they were playing against each other as rivals, each wearing their country’s colors with pride. Fallen even deeper in love when they became teammates and that had been echoed in their relationship off the ice. 

But even as they grew from girls into young women, and all of the changes life brought with it, they’d always had the ice as a constant. To Sylvain, it makes some sense that losing that would scare Ingrid out of her mind. 

“Thea is good,” Ingrid repeats with more confidence. She pulls something out of her purse and weighs it in her left hand, “She wanted me to give you this.” 

Sylvain pulls the car to a stop at a red light and glances down at the object, a thin soft-cover book, ‘ _ Anyone Can Be Cool’ _ , “Is that a fucking self-help book?” 

“They were giving them out on campus and I figured you must miss having strangers yell at you and giving you random stuff.” 

“I play professional hockey, Gigi. I still get handed random stuff.” 

“But not self-help books?” Ingrid asks innocently. 

“Oddly enough, no.” 

“Then it’s a good thing Thea thought of you as a new home for this guy.”

“Thanks. Much appreciated.” 

Despite the light sarcasm in his tone, Sylvain smiles. This is a familiar game that Ingrid and Dorothea like to play. There are two warring natures inside of Ingrid. The first, the thrifty, practical college student likes free and cheap things. The second, the minimalist, hates having things. And so while the first side of her brings home every book random people hand her on the streets, the second part of her is filled with the immediate need to get rid of them. 

Dorothea has perfected the act of rehoming these free and half-off items to new owners that provide maximum levels of amusement and entertainment for her. 

There is one particularly memorable story that she tells about how she indirectly caused an entire floor of a dorm building to evacuate by giving a blue-haired freshman a 15 piece kitchen set which he had proceeded to use with a little too much enthusiasm on his camp stove in his tiny dorm room. 

Sylvain smoothly pulls the car into the parking lot. Ingrid eyes the neon signs in the windows with heavy skepticism and then turns to Sylvain with a disapproving eyebrow raise, “A sports bar? Really?” 

“It's a restaurant, not a bar. I mean, it has a bar in it but the main floor is just a restaurant. Come on Gigi, it’s food. I have never known you to turn down dinner anywhere.” 

“Fine. But I get to pick next time.” 

“Fair enough. Come on, I think Felix might already be inside.” 

Sylvain follows Ingrid dashing through the parking lot towards the large set of doors. 

Felix in fact, is just inside, standing by a faux leather covered bench and half concealed by a large plant. Sylvain raises a hand as a greeting. 

Free of the confines of the car, Ingrid’s fingers catch Sylvain’s arm and pulls him in close for an embrace. Sylvain doesn’t pull away, he lets Ingrid rest her head against his chest and keeps his own arms wrapped around her shoulders. 

This close together he knows she can feel his breath shake. In high school, they were never physically affectionate. She’d been too reserved and he’d been too emotionally distant to even think about engaging in such things. 

But then he’d graduated and their first months really apart had been harder on both of them than they had imagined. Sylvain had naively assumed that making it out of high school would smooth sailing but quickly found that was not the case. Ingrid had suddenly found it difficult to express her true self without her partner in crime. 

So the first time they reunited they’d both been so tired and so full of a desperate need for familiarity that they’d just fallen into each other’s arms in a way they’d never had before. Time and distance had not built barriers between them so much as broken them. 

They’ve had a weird rhythm. Two years together in high school. Two years apart. Two years together in college. Now they’re apart again for the foreseeable future. They take what comforts they can get when they see each other.

Felix stands gazing away as Ingrid and Sylvain finish their embrace. Ingrid releases her grip on Sylvain’s shirt and turns her attention to Felix. 

They stand for a moment in frozen silence, simply studying the other. Felix finally nods a greeting and offers his hand out. Ingrid accepts it and Sylvain assumes that will be that but then Ingrid has Felix into a brief hug. And to Sylvain’s surprise, Felix doesn’t resist. 

It’s brief and more than a little awkward but neither seems horrified by the experience. If Sylvain has been keeping track properly, they haven’t seen each other since they were 15? 16? Years old. Around 5 years. Sylvain has seen first hand how much Ingrid has changed in that time and though he didn’t know Felix back then, he has extremely high confidence that Felix also transformed in that time. 

Sylvain watches as they let go of each other and though neither is willing to say it out loud he knows for a fact that they too, missed each other. 

Before any of them is forced to come up with something sentimental or emotional to say, the hostess calls for their party and expertly guides them through the crowded maze of busy tables. 

It’s a Tuesday night sure, but there are plenty of sports being played on the large screens to bring out the masses after work. 

They arrive at a tall circular table surrounded by three rickety-looking stools. They take their seats, each close enough to bump elbows with the other two. Sylvain coughs softly to hide his amusement at the realization that only his legs are long enough to let his feet rest on the crossbar of his stool. 

Just to his left, Felix’s gaze hasn’t moved from Ingrid from a solid minute. 

Ingrid raises a curious eyebrow, “What?”

“You cut your hair.” 

Sylvain assumes that Felix remembers Ingrid with the long braid she’d worn throughout high school. It had been heavy and cumbersome but the stubborn streak in her had kept her from changing it. 

It wasn’t near the start of her sophomore year of college when Sylvain and Dorothea were getting their tattoos that Ingrid finally agreed to lop the majority of her hair off. 

She’d let it grow out in the year and change since then, maintaining it only on the level that was practical, letting it once again reach past her shoulders. But recently, only just over a month ago she’d got it cut again. It’s even and tight in a way that sharpens her features.

“New cut looks even better in person,” Sylvain adds with a grin. 

Ingrid tentatively touches the back of her head, seemingly checking to make sure her hair is still there, “Thank you. I realized that the last time I had a professional haircut since my freshman year of high school. But hey, no better time to remedy that than just in time for a wedding.” 

Sylvain leans, tipping forward onto the front leg of his stool, “Oh yeah, you said you were going to tell me about the wedding but you never did. How was attending the event of the century?” 

“It wasn’t that big a deal.” 

“It was like a royal wedding but actually cool.”

Catherine Charon and Shamir Nevrand define the word power couple. They’ve competed against each other in three Olympic games, with their sites set on a fourth. Between the two of them, they have three gold and three silver medals and it’s no secret that Catherine intends to even the score at two golds each at the coming games. 

They’ve won everything there is to win. Olympic gold, world gold, Isobel, and Clarkson Cups. They’ve done it all. But their most recent accomplishment is getting married. They put a ring on it and said forever and always. 

The American and Canadian hockey rivalry is one of the greatest and fiercest sports rivalries of all time, and yet these women, these captains no less, fell in love. Fell so in love that they decided to immortalize it in vows. The relationship that had paved the way for other young American and Canadian girls and women to follow suit and Ingrid and Dorothea had found themselves among them. 

Sylvain knows that, before Dorothea’s semi unexpected retirement, Ingrid had her sights set on following in Catherine and Shamir’s Olympic legacy. Now Ingrid is faced with representing the United States without the woman she loves on the other bench. 

The wedding itself, of course, had become quite the event. It hadn’t been a surprise that Ingrid, who spends her summers training alongside Catherine, had been one of the first people invited. But Sylvain cannot entirely claim there’s no pang of jealousy that Ingrid, who has been overly fond of any sort of wedding, got to attend and he didn’t. 

“You attended Catherine and Shamir’s wedding?” Felix asks in a mostly neutral tone. 

“Yes, I’ve been doing a lot of training with Catherine when I’m not in school and she’s been a big help in getting me prepared for life after graduation so of course, I’d want to be there for her.” 

“Ah, of course,” Felix pauses, “My father was there. For part of it at least.” 

“Yes. I bumped into him. He said you were...” Ingrid trails off and looks down at her hands folded in her lap. 

“I was in pain that day. A lot of pain. G stayed with me in the hotel while our old man went out and made the social rounds.”

Felix’s left-hand travels automatically to the bottom of his back, which he rubs in slow small circles. 

“I’m sorry,” Ingrid says. 

Before Sylvain has the chance to echo her words, Felix shrugs, “Why? It’s not anything you did. And I’m not in pain most days. It’s just that sometimes I miss weddings.” 

“Well,” Sylvain tries, “Since you were the only one there, how was it?” 

“It was a lot. I’ve never quite understood why weddings need to include so much stuff in them. Nobody needs that many ice sculptures. But it was a beautiful ceremony and the food was good. Oh! And there were swords! I say that any wedding that includes swords is instantly bumped up a few levels.” 

That gets Felix’s attention and Sylvain chuckles, “I want swords in my wedding.” 

Ingrid frowns, “You sure about that Sy?” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“It means,” Felix says softly but confidently, “That if anyone brings a sword to a wedding of yours it’s for all the wrong reasons.” 

Sylvain watches as Ingrid moves her fist along the table and gently nudges it up against Felix’s in a mini fistbump. 

“Hey now,” He protests. 

“What?” Ingrid asks, “I didn’t think you had any intentions of ever getting married anyway.” 

“Not if you’re going to be mean about it,” Sylvain retorts without any heat behind it. 

He doesn’t have intentions of ever getting married. It’s something he’s accepted about himself. Mostly. 

Felix shifts on his stool and keeps his head bowed as he quietly studies Sylvain. 

Their waiter wades his way through the sea of tables and takes their order with a polite but semi curious smile. 

Once his back is to them, Sylvain downs half of his glass of water. 

“You’re not drinking,” Ingrid observes. 

“Yeah, well, I’m trying to do less,” Sylvain gestures with his free hand as he struggles to come with an explanation that isn’t just straight-up ‘self-destructive bullshit’, “You know? You’re not drinking either.” 

“I mean I have a game tomorrow and also homework to do.” 

Sylvain winces, “I do not miss having to do schoolwork while on road trips.” 

Ingrid scoffs and rolls her eyes, “You say that like you ever actually did homework on road trips.” 

With a playful dismissive wave of his right hand, Sylvain changes the subject, “How do you think it’s going to go? The game?” 

“We’re a ranked team and they’re not. So I think the expectation is that we should be able to win. But one of the best things about the sport is that every game is a game you can win and every game is a game you can lose.” 

“So? You know how to win games.”

Felix’s eyes are sharp, bright, and challenging as he scans Ingrid from head to toe. 

“That’s true. It’s just in some ways it’s still easier to be the challenger. The underdog. The runt squaring up to fight the giant. There are no expectations, you just have to play like you know you can and you can do amazing things no matter the odds. But when there are expectations for your performance? When people think you should win just because of how you’ve played in the past it gets that much harder to actually pull off.” 

“I can’t imagine being captain makes it any easier either.” 

A shadow of a blush rises on Ingrid’s cheeks, “It’s alright.” 

“Captains are never viewed fairly for their play,” Felix adds. 

Sylvain notes that he’s defensive and realizes that Felix perhaps also cares deeply for Ingrid. They make an interesting trio, sitting here. A goalie, a defenseman, and a captain who happens to be a center. They’re three people who perhaps should know each other better than they do. They kept just missing each other in life, like fate wanted to wait for this moment to bring them all together. That it was meant to be like this, sitting on sticky stools in a noisy restaurant. 

Having taken a moment to gather her thoughts, Ingrid responds, “Perhaps. But it’s mostly that when you’ve wanted something as badly and for as long as I wanted this captainship, it’s hard not to be constantly afraid of fucking it up now that I have it.” 

“You won’t,” Sylvain promises. 

“Thank you. The game should be fine. It would be easier if we didn't have to rearrange the lines but we work with what we have I guess?” 

“You have players out?” 

“Annette specifically which is a thing because she’s on the top line and both the power-play and PK so there’s a lot of changes to make.” 

“She’s hurt?” Sylvain’s eyebrows go up in concern. Of Ingrid’s teammates, Annette is not one he ever knew particularly well off the ice but he’s seen her play. He knows how important she is to the team. 

“No,” Ingrid shakes her head with an unreadable expression, “She’s suspended. Just the one game.” 

“Suspended?” Felix and Sylvain echo in synchronized disbelief.

“Yes. For checking. Which as you know is still illegal in women’s hockey.” Bitterness bites at the edge of Ingrid’s tone but she keeps an even smile. 

“I mean, sure.” Sylvain runs his fingers through his hair, “But Annette? Tough-as-Nails but Sweet-as-Sugar Annette?” 

Felix stops chewing on his knuckles long enough to voice his agreement, “Yeah, she’s barely five feet even, what could she have done that’s suspension worthy?” 

“They don’t call her The Crusher for nothing. She would never mean to hurt another soul but she also doesn’t hold back.” 

Ingrid fails to disguise all of the pride in her voice. Sylvain knows that until high school. She had played almost exclusively with boys. She’d always been the smallest, often the youngest, someone people liked to hit around just because they could. Or at least until they realized just how good she was. 

To this day there’s nothing she loves more than showing that the size of your opponent is not what matters. 

Felix, too, is grinning with what Sylvain can only describe as affection. 

With a sigh, Sylvain shifts in his seat, and a twinge passes through his left shoulder. It’s not a bad pain and it passes quickly but he makes a note to make sure to roll it out when he gets home. His gaze shifts to the purple blooming over Felix’s left wrist where a shot hit him with enough force to send his glove flying. There’s a half-healed cut peeking out from the collar of Ingrid's sweatshirt where Sylvain assumes a stick blade managed to find exposed skin. 

These are the badges they wear to show the path they picked. Not the broken bones or torn ligaments. These everyday aches and pains that don’t stop them from doing their best but do remind them that their time is limited. 

They’re barely in their twenties, in many ways just getting started with the best part of their lives and there, always looming, always just ahead, is retirement. They have less than two decades of playing time left in them. 

It feels like both an impossibly long and impossibly short amount of time. 

The dream for retirement, of course, is to win the elusive championship, reach the pinnacle of sport, and then retire, happy and healthy after a long fulfilling career. 

Of course, it’s entirely too possible that’s not how it’s going to go down. There are plenty of amazing and incredible athletes that never manage to capture their personal gold medal. It’s not easy to win a Stanley Cup. And it’s entirely possible their careers won’t end on their terms either. That they’ll get hit just wrong and end up paralyzed. Or end up with a concussion so bad they can barely function. 

Or they could have a heart attack. 

It’s terrifying really. So much to do in whatever time they do have. 

But when Sylvain looks at Felix, who seems not at all bothered by his bruised wrist, all he can think about is his promise to make life outside and after hockey worthwhile for Felix. 

Will it be like this? Them chilling in crowded restaurants poking gentle fun at each other and swapping stories? Or, Sylvain thinks of the tickets he promised to share, will they take on the world wonder by wonder? Seeing all of the sights they never had time to take in while they were training? 

It’s oddly important that after has meaning now so that they can enjoy the present while they're in it. 

It’s just that Sylvain has no clue how to tell Felix that he’s here. Here for the now and here for the after. Here for all of it if he needs to be. 

He’s pretty sure that whatever it is he ends up doing, it’s going to be a disaster. 

Ingrid’s eyes light up in a way that can only mean one thing. Their food is here. She laughs, a delighted, carefree sound that is different than the one she makes on the ice. 

Sylvain notes that her enthusiasm seems contagious, as even Felix, who Sylvain has never seen excited over a meal in his life, seems engaged. 

Sylvain takes a bite of dinner and can’t help but wonder if there’s any truth to the idea of eating with people you care about making food taste better. 

Almost out of habit, Sylvain’s fork snatches a bite off of Ingrid’s plate. Without hesitation, she retaliates back at him before confidently going for Felix’s plate. 

“Hey,” Felix complains with a half-hearted scowl but doesn’t move to strike back. 

Ingrid grins triumphantly. 

Felix tips his head, “Some things never change I guess.” 

“Why would my opinion on food change?” 

“You should come visit me in Sweden. Seteth cooks a mean fish.”

Ingrid pauses eating just long enough to smile, “I’d like that.” 

Sylvain hesitates as his brain struggles to come up with an explanation that isn’t the obvious, “Visit you in Sweden?” 

Felix nods, “Next year. When I go back.” 

“You’re not going to stay?” 

“I came back because G asked me to so he’d have someone while making the adjustment to being a coach.”

“So that’s it then? No ifs, ands or buts?” 

“What would change my mind?” 

Sylvain’s head spins with incoherent thoughts. He’s seen how much Felix loves his brother, seen that he loves Glenn more than Sylvain probably will ever be able to fully comprehend. He’s seen Felix slowly and begrudgingly become affectionate towards his new teammates. Even his attitude towards Dimitri has started to heal. 

Sylvain understands that there was a reason that Felix decided to come home and that reason didn’t involve staying but there are so many things that have changed since then. 

Including, Sylvain thinks, _ Me _ . He’s the person who promised Felix a life outside of hockey. When he looks at Felix he sees so much more than he can ever put into words. He’s not sure why he dared to think that would be enough to make Felix want to stay.

“The team,” he says instead, “We’re not so bad.” 

“No,” Felix agrees, “It certainly could be worse.” 

“I hear you guys are heating up of late.” 

“Yeah,” Sylvain confirms, “We got off to a bit of a rocky start and it’s still early but I think we’re starting to find our groove.” 

“Things appear to be trending in a good direction right now.” 

“So,” Ingrid says, “Who’s to say how the season will turn out. Who knows how you’ll feel about things at that point.” 

“I suppose,” Felix concedes, surprisingly subdued. 

At a loss of what to feel exactly, Sylvain sighs. He’s still disappointed he knows, just the idea that Felix is still holding on to the concept of going back to Sweden is enough to do that. But at the same time, he seems less callous about it. Like there is something else lurking beneath and though Sylvain can’t quite put his finger on it, it keeps hope and warmth stirring in his chest. 

Ingrid, who suddenly refuses to meet his gaze is no help either. 

They fall into slightly awkward silence until Sylvain nearly upsets the entire table when his stool is abruptly jostled from behind. 

He twists to see a definitely drunk man in his mid-20s stumble away from them. He raises a sloshing glass in Sylvain’s direction. Bemused, Sylvain mimics the gesture with his water glass. 

“Eyyy!” The stranger greets, gesturing wildly at one of the large screens where a basketball game appears to have just concluded, resulting in several booths starting cheering enthusiastically. 

“Sports!” Sylvain amicably cheers, earning him a snort from Felix and an eye roll from Ingrid. 

“Sy do you even know how basketball works?” 

“Of course I do. I played for two years in high school.”

Sylvain never minded basketball and being a multi-sport athlete had its perks but it never spoke to him in the way that hockey does and the coach was less determined for Sylvain to live up to his potential and so in turn, got fed up with his antics much, much faster. 

“Oh yeah?” 

“You score points by putting balls in the basket and the team with the most points at the end of 4 quarters wins the game.” 

“Wow. So eloquently put,” Felix deadpans. 

“I know how basketball works. I just happen to like some other sports more.” 

“Like curling,” Ingrid says with a grin that curls in a way that doesn’t spell innocence. 

Surprise lights up Felix’s entire face, “Curling? You couldn’t have picked literally any other sport that takes place on ice?” 

“He has a thing about curling.” 

Under the table, Sylvain gently knocks his foot against Ingrid’s shin, “I don’t have a thing about curling. I just think it’s an underappreciated sport that gets a bad rep. It’s like chess but actually requires physical strength and skill.” 

He knows he’s talking too much, he knows he’s digging himself into a hole. He can see the delight crawling onto Ingrid’s face. She loves when he makes a fool of himself in a way that she isn’t left cleaning up a mess. 

Realization hits Felix, “Oh my god you totally have a thing about curling.”

“I do not.” 

“Come on Sy, tell the story of the worst date you went on in college.” 

Sylvain comes the closest to pouting as he has in years. He knows exactly which story Ingrid is getting at. It’s a good story too. Even he can laugh about it now. And though perhaps it might not be the best move to reveal that he has, in fact, more than one date disaster story, he doesn’t feel like humoring Ingrid right away. 

“I had walking pneumonia and when I collapsed in the bar the guy called an ambulance and proceeded to tell the paramedics that he’d never met me before and didn’t even come with me to the hospital.” 

Felix blinks, “What.” 

“I mean sure that was pretty bad but you know I was talking about the curling date.” 

“If you love the story so much you tell it.” 

“Fine,” Ingrid says but waits to meet Sylvain’s gaze before speaking. She waits until he nods, confirming he means what he said and she’s good to tell it. It’s a small gesture but it means a lot to Sylvain. She’ll tease him all day, every day but she also makes sure to let him know how much she cares. “He took the poor girl to the curling world cup. Which, fine, if she had expressed any interest whatsoever in curling might have been fine but she didn’t have an ounce of curling curiosity in her. So he’s dragged her out to a sporting event she has no interest in being at and of course, he’s paying more attention to the match than to his date because he’s not half as romantic as he thinks he is. She got bored and decided to go find herself a drink so she just up and left.”

Sylvain watches Felix watch Ingrid. He’s sharp and attentive as he leans his cheek against one hand. Sylvain finds himself oddly touched by the fact that Felix is even listening at all, he half expected Felix to entirely tune out something so dangerously close to gossip. 

Though perhaps he shouldn’t be surprised by the fact that one of the roads to Felix’s heart is through disastrous stories about himself. 

“You got ditched by your date at a curling match. That’s incredible” 

Sylvain buries his face in his hands before running his fingers through his hair at the memory, “Oh it gets worse.” 

“It gets better.” Ingrid corrects, “She took his wallet.” 

“She took his wallet?” 

“She took his wallet and went to the bar across the street from the arena. She wasn’t just buying herself drinks. She was buying drinks for the whole damn bar.” 

Sylvain knocks his shoulder against Ingrid, careful to not use enough force to send her flying out of her seat, “Which, if I may, in my defense, well in her defense, that was a pretty baller move and I respect it. Just spend your date’s money on other dudes.” 

“Yeah okay, that’s not what you were saying that night.” 

Sylvain shrugs, “Hindsight is 20/20 as they say.” 

“Anyway, Prince Charming over here finally realized his date probably should have come back and gone looking for her only to find her doing her Robin Hood thing in the bar. He approached her and asked for his wallet back and she threw her drink at him.” 

“Yeah, I could have done without that part. It was a good shirt.” 

He gazes mournfully down at a phantom stain on his shirt. 

“I mean, Sylvain, what were you expecting?” 

“Hey, I really liked her!” 

“Please we all know the moment she mentioned your father you were going to dump her ass.”

Sylvain winces. It’s true though. He has been cruel like that. He’d been nasty and mean to people who didn’t deserve it. He’s not sure if it’s ever really possible to move on from that but perhaps this is not the time to spend thinking too hard on it. 

“I miss the days you were still pining over Thea and just as hopeless about these things as I am.” 

“I don’t.” 

Felix humphs softly, “I’m not sure it’s possible Ingrid to ever have been just an incompetent as you in anything.” 

“Thank you,” Ingrid says through light laughter, hands clasped over her heart. 

Felix turns to Ingrid and sticks the tip of his tongue out affectionately. Ingrid follows suit and mirrors the expression. Sylvain nearly passes out. 

It’s such a youthful gesture of affection that Sylvain feels dizzy just trying to comprehend what he’s seeing. It takes years off both of his companions. Both people, who in their own ways act far older than their true age. 

He knows, in a sense they are young. Ingrid is over two years younger than him and Felix a month still younger than her. They’re young. Barely in their 20s. But beyond perhaps, their respective stubborn streaks, neither really acts as such. There’s something refreshing about them being young and silly with each other. 

“Wow,” Sylvain says, barely even bothering to pretend to be hurt. 

Felix shrugs. 

Ingrid frowns at her phone screen, “I have to call my coach really quick. I’ll be back.” 

She hops down from her stool and maneuvers her way towards the front doors, searching for someplace quieter. 

Sylvain’s attention turns fully to Felix, “Having fun?” 

“Yes.” 

“I’m glad,” Sylvain says and prays that it comes across as sincere. He can’t explain why exactly he cares so much about this working out but he can’t come up with many examples of things that he’s cared about more of late. 

“You really like her don’t you?” 

“Yeah. I do. She’s my best friend.”

“Even now?” Felix asks, eyes narrowed as if he’s trying to get at something but Sylvain can’t figure out what. 

“What do you mean?” 

“You don’t have a best friend here with the team?” 

Sylvain hesitates, taking a moment to try and figure out how to explain the difference between best friend and Best friend. He does have Dedue, Dedue his defense partner who he would do anything for, who he trusts, who he respects, but, who at the end of the day is not Ingrid. 

“I mean I suppose there are people I’m closer with than others on the team but Ingrid is still my Best friend. Surely you’ve noticed by now that while I get along with a lot of people I don’t actually have many friends. She’s always going to be special to me.” 

“What makes her different?” 

“She sees me beyond the bullshit that I put up.” 

It’s funny to think about. That the reason he’s so close with Ingrid is that she sees beyond the bullshit. It seems like there’s an easy solution to making him more close friends. Stop with the bullshit. He puts so much time and effort into creating this facade of this person when his favorite person, his favorite people are the ones who like it’s not even there. 

“Just her?” 

No, not only Ingrid. Dorothea as well. A handful of teammates at Penn. Maybe soon some of his teammates here. Maybe even Felix. 

“Not only her but she’s been doing it for a long time. She’s certainly the most comfortable with it.” 

Felix exhales sharply, “So what about new people?” 

“What about them?” 

“Are you still so afraid of the concept of being known?” 

“Yes,” Sylvain says automatically because by the time he graduated high school he’d convinced himself that he’s going to be this way forever. But then he stops and thinks about it, he’s no longer terrified of what Miklan can do to him, he’s no longer directly under his father’s control, he has a job, doing something that he loves. He’s safe and comfortable and dare he say it, happy, and so perhaps he is not as afraid of being known as he once was, “No,” he corrects, but it feels strange on his tongue and he can’t stop another “Yes,” from slipping out. 

“Which is it? Yes or No?” 

“No. I’m not.” 

Sylvain suddenly feels vaguely ill. He isn’t sure what he wants as a response here but he’s pretty sure he’s not about to get it. 

Felix crosses his arms over his chest and folds in on himself, silent and completely unreadable. Sylvain wonders if he just completely failed some kind of test. He’s not used to being on this side of this kind of behavior. 

Abruptly, Felix hops down from his stool, “I’ll be back. I need to get some air.” 

He turns and crashes directly into Ingrid’s chest as she returns. Wordlessly, Felix pushes past her. 

“What did I miss?” Ingrid asks, eyeing Felix’s back. 

“Nothing.” 

“Yeah? What happened?” 

“I don’t know,” Sylvain admits because he honestly has no clue. He doesn’t know and he hates it. This is somehow worse than when he was just in straight-up denial because, though he’s loath to admit it, there are few things he hates more than not knowing something. 

Ingrid reaches for Sylvain’s right arm and feels around until her thumb starts tracing the tattoo on Sylvain’s lower arm. Even with his shirt sleeve down she knows the outline well, it perfectly matches the one on Dorothea’s arm. Perhaps it’s strange for Sylvain to have a matching tattoo with his best friend’s girlfriend but (a) he does love Thea in their own way and (b), the thorny rose bush had been perfect for both of them. Beautiful and deceptively dangerous. 

It’s his second of two tattoos. The first being the compass rose inked on his left shoulder when he graduated high school as a reminder that he can navigate his own life. The rose bush was added at the start of his senior year of college when Thea had just transferred to Penn. 

Ever since last year, he’s been itching to get something lion related as a new tattoo but he hasn’t been able to figure out what. He’s half tempted to ask Felix for permission to use the top of his mask as inspiration but there’s something about the feeling of using something that he associates so strongly with Felix permanently put on his body that sends shivers through his entire frame. 

It feels so intimate, so deeply personal that it’s embarrassing to even try and put into words. 

“So,” Ingrid says in a tone that Sylvain doesn’t entirely trust. 

“So,” he echoes.

“That’s a thing huh?” 

Sylvain nods mutely, there’s no point in lying. Ingrid will call him out one way or another and it’ll be more painful than it’s worth but he’s also not ready to actually hear himself say it. 

“So what are you going to do about it?” 

“Nothing, probably.” Sylvain croaks, “I mean after this week we’ll be back to just being teammates. No more heartfelt conversations across the table. And you heard him, he’s not sticking around after the season ends so that’ll be the end of that.” 

Ingrid fixes him with a stare that says she’s anything but impressed. 

“What?” Sylvain pleads, a little more desperate than he means to but there’s an ache in his chest at the thought of Felix going back to Sweden. 

“I’m the one who has to deal with your shit.” 

“Yeah?”

“If you don’t do anything about this I’m the one who has to deal with you being all sulky because you’re not half as cool as you think you are. And honestly, Sy aren’t we both growing past this?” 

“What?” Sylvain asks again, hoping to all hell that he doesn’t sound as scared as he feels. Is she getting tired of him? He’s not entirely surprised. Part of him can barely comprehend that they’ve been friends for this long anyway. He knows he’s obnoxious, tiring to be around and at the end of the day, there’s no one he tests more than Ingrid. But he thought they were okay. 

He loves her. Platonically he loves her so much and they’ve been by each other through so much that he’s imagined that they would be like this forever. But as much as he loves Ingrid and Dorothea and he loves them together and no matter how much he’s accepted that he’ll be alone until he dies, he’s scared that now that he’s moved out they’ll move on to a phase of their lives that doesn’t have him in it. 

“Sy, we’re friends. We’ll always be best friends no matter what alright? Without you, I wouldn’t be half as happy as I am. I want you to be happy too. You’ve made so much of yourself, it’s incredible and beautiful. So don’t you think it’s time to stop punishing yourself for things you can’t control? Just go for it for once.” 

“I can’t.” 

“I'm not saying it’ll be easy or even promising it’ll work out but I’m saying you’re not going to be any happier if you just don’t do anything.”

“Depends on your definition of happier.” 

“Look, Sy I’m not a romantic.” 

“You could have fooled me.” 

“I got lucky. I have never once said that I need a relationship to be more complete. I got lucky and happened to meet someone who makes me happy and who I make happy. I can’t say for sure that we’ll be together until we die but as long as we make each other happy I’m not letting go of her.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Sy,” Ingrid all but whispers, “He makes you happy. He makes you happy and feel safe and I’ve known you long enough to know you don’t feel that way about a lot of people.

“Fuck.” Sylvain hisses, blinking back the sting of impossibly hot tears. 

“And Sylvain?” Ingrid adds, drawing out his entire first name, “You make him happy too. I’ve been here for what? An hour? And I can tell that you also make him so happy.”

“So now what?” 

“You tell him.”

“He’s leaving after the season ends. What’s the point?” 

“First of all, there’s plenty of time before the end of the season. Second of all, if I can date a person in a different country, so can you. And lastly, the future isn’t set in stone. There’s still time for him to change his mind. But you have to do something to get him to change it.” 

“Okay. Okay. Soon.” 

Soon, because if not soon he's going to run out of chances. 

“You better do it soon. Come on now, pull yourself together, he’s coming back over.” 

Felix indeed is walking over, he takes his seat and Sylvain inhales and realizes that he smells of the cool evening air mixed with a familiar pine. 

“You good?” Sylvain asks. 

Felis nods, his entire posture more at ease than it had been when he’s all but stormed out. His expression seems less upset and more exhausted. It hits Sylvain that it’s late enough that the Avs game on the television is coming to an end. 

Ingrid seems to notice the hour as well as she stretches in her seat, “This has been a lot of fun but I should probably be getting back to my hotel soon.” 

“Yeah alright. I’ll drive you back. Felix? You need a ride home? You're basically in the same direction as Gigi’s hotel.” 

Felix glances up from the receipt he’s signing, “Are you offering?” 

“I’m always offering, you know that.” 

Felix tips his head, “Then alright. Sure.” 

Sylvain nearly bites his tongue in surprise, “Well let’s go.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you!  
> Next time: The final session!  
> I am in the lead up to finals for these next couple weeks so I can't say for certain when next chapter will be but thank you for sticking with the inconsistency!
> 
> Optional Reading: You might think I am kidding but American and Canadian hockey players keep marrying each other https://www.them.us/story/usa-canada-womens-hockey-weddings
> 
> I may or may not eventually end up releasing a one-shot spin-off about Ingrid and Dorothea, who's to say really.


	9. Week 4, Session 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things start to come to an end. But also, not really.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Thank you again for waiting for weeks! Finals: Done! Online Commencement Ceremony: Had!   
> The end of this thing is insight, which is Insane, I'm not actually sure I thought I'd reach this point. I also am just now realizing that I have never actually written a fic where things need to be resolved before and holy shit that stuff is Hard.

##  **_WEDNESDAY OCTOBER 24 ONTARIO REIGN VS FHIRDIAD LIONS (2-8)_ **

##  **_THURSDAY OCTOBER 25 COLORADO AVALANCHE @ ANAHEIM DUCKS (4-1)_ **

##  **_FRIDAY OCTOBER 26 MANITOBA MOOSE @ FHIRDIAD LIONS (4-3)_ **

##  **_FRIDAY OCTOBER 26 Week 4, Session 2_ **

“Flex. Wake up.” 

“I’m awake,” Felix protests, refusing to open his eyes or lift his head from where it rests against the cold glass of his brother’s car window. 

“Wake up, “ Glenn repeats, unceremoniously jabbing a couple of fingers between some of Felix’s ribs. 

“ _ What?”  _ Felix snaps, with a glare that would be significantly more threatening if his sleep disheveled hair wasn’t covering most of his eyes. 

Undeterred, Glenn points out the window at the parking spot he pulled into, “We’re here.” 

“We’re early. I don’t have to meet him for another 20 minutes.” 

The game had been an afternoon game so after showering and changing at the rink, instead of driving home, Glenn elected to drive Felix straight here, to the restaurant where he’s supposed to be meeting Sylvain for, fuck the last of their bonding meetings. 

Glenn cracks his knuckles on the edge of the steering wheel, Felix waves his fingers together but resists the urge to crack his as well. Glenn casually brushes a wayward chunk of hair back behind Felix’s ear, “So you’re going to use that time to nap?” 

Scowling, Felix pulls away from his brother’s touch and shakes out what remains of the ponytail he put in after his shower and twists all of it up into a high knot, “Maybe.” 

Glenn’s eyes darken as he narrows them to better study Felix’s face in the dim light of the car, “Are you feeling okay? Are you tired?” 

It hits Felix with a not entirely pleasant feeling in his stomach that this is the first week of the last three that has gone by without one of them being physically ill. It seems an odd milestone to celebrate but while he is tired, he doesn’t feel nearly as awful as he did the previous Thursday. 

“What? From all of the hard minutes, I played this afternoon? Yeah. I’m exhausted.” He spikes his words with sarcasm. He’d watched the game from the bench and while objectively he understands that he can’t start or play in every game in the season, he’s not in the mood to be entirely reasonable. 

“Wait, are you seriously mad at me for refusing to start you in both halves of a back to back? You’ll start tomorrow night, you can shutout the Roadrunners.” 

“I could have played both,” Felix argues, careful to not let his voice slip into a whine. 

“You could have but we’re not doing that unless we have no other option. Your health matters to me,” Glenn pauses and considers where he wants to take this next. Felix can see his brother and his coach at war inside the figure next to him. Finally, Glenn turns to him and adds in a fairly neutral tone, “Be happy I’m starting you in the divisional matchup and not the out of division one. These points matter double Flex.” 

It is, admittedly a smooth move, reminding him that the games he’s being played in 

“Those were two points we could have. We could have beaten Manitoba.” 

Naively, Felix had once assumed that it would be easier to stomach losses in games that he didn’t play in than losses in games that he did. It should be easy when the one making the mistakes isn’t him. But he’s learned over the years that that isn’t the case. That watching his team lose from the bench leaves him feeling itchy in all the wrong ways. He hates the crushing helplessness of watching a shipwreck in slow motion. 

It’s like being held hostage and forced to watch those he loves, suffer. 

When he’s playing and they’re losing he at least has a physical outlet for his frustration. When he’s on the bench all he can do is boil, hotter and hotter. 

“Yeah?” Glenn raises a curious eyebrow. Skeptical but not completely disbelieving. 

“Even without Sylvain, if you’d put me in goal, I could have...done something.”

With Sylvain up with Avs, the Lions defensive core was left in a state of disarray. This had expected ahead of time, they had seen it in the previous game against the Reign as well but there an offensive outburst had been enough to overcome their sudden defensive shortcomings. 

“Well, I’ll keep that in mind for if Sylvain is ever gone again,” Glenn says in a voice that says he will do no such thing. The left corner of his mouth twitches twice before he lowers his voice ever so slightly to ask, “You happy he’s back?” 

“I. I guess so.” 

It feels like a safe answer. He thinks it feels the right one. It’s good that the Avs are healthy enough again that they don’t need their emergency callup. Felix isn’t cruel enough to wish long term injury on anyone. It’s good that Sylvain can return to the Lions where he’s proved that he’s a valuable asset. It’s a reasonable thing to say regardless of any personal feelings. 

“Yeah. Me too,” Glenn agrees. He’s been pushing magnets around and brainstorming new ideas on paper while pacing the backyard rink but nothing has really stuck. As a coach, it’s a relief to have his player back, “Tell him congrats on the goal for me. I didn’t score that quickly after debuting in the NHL.” 

“Right. It took you, what? Felix counts the games out on his fingers. “Four whole games to get on the score sheet? Everyone thought you were a bust.”

“Eh, well, they weren’t totally wrong on that front,” Glenn admits with an uncomfortable level of forced cheer as his eyes dart down to where his prosthetic starts. 

Felix growls as anger burns in his chest. Anyone who thinks Glenn was a waste of a draft pick because the Avs only got about 5 years of play is a fucking asshole. No one talks about it but the unreasonable pressure and impossible expectations were a big part of what destroyed his health, “Hey.” 

Glenn’s cool palm presses against the back of Felix’s wrist, “It’s okay Flex. It’s a joke. You sure you don’t want to head in and wait for Sylvain inside? I have places to be you know.” 

“You have places to be?” 

“Yeah. You’re finding your own way home by the way. I don’t know how long I’ll be out for.”

Felix sighs, thinking of the satisfaction this will bring to Sylvain’s face. 

“Where are you going?” Felix asks, genuinely curious. As far as he can tell, since he returned to Colorado, Glenn’s life has consisted entirely of finding ways to make the Lions the best team he can. This hasn’t left much time for casual socialization. 

“When did you get so invested in my personal life?” 

“When you started doing things other than moping around the house.” 

“Wow.” 

Unwilling to drop the subject, Felix “Seriously, where are you going?” 

“I’m meeting up with some friends.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

“The Oilers are in town.” 

Felix knows this. He knows that the Oilers flew in Thursday afternoon, landing just in time to beat the nasty weather rolling in. The storms in Denver, stranded the Avs in sunny Anaheim for the night. 

“That they are.” 

“This friend that you’re meeting up with. Would it happen to be Chris?” 

Felix supposes that Glenn must have other friends in the NHL. He knows that he got along with the other young all-stars but this is the one that matters the most. 

He wouldn’t say he and Christophe have ever been close. The most they ever talked with each other was when Chris was answering most of Glenn’s phone calls. Chris at least had the decency to sound sympathetic when telling Felix to fuck off. Glenn did not. 

But ever since Chris’ abrupt trade to Edmonton, he’s kind of disappeared from both their lives. 

Glenn doesn’t bother trying to hide it, “Yeah actually, it is.” 

“Do you miss him?” 

They both have their mother’s eyes. Felix knows this. But on him, they’ve always just been constant and brown. On Glenn though, they’ve always been mesmerizingly expressive. They change with his emotions. When he’s happy they’re shining and clear when he’s angry they’re dangerously dark and deep. They have a unique glow for every emotion in between and over the years Felix thinks he’s seen most of them. 

Felix watches as the tiny car light bounces off his brother’s eyes as sadness and hurt but also affection cross Glenn’s face, “Yeah, kiddo. I miss him,” Glenn says, his voice tight but kind. His eyes settle on a clouded look, something Felix can’t quite place but would best describe as nostalgia. 

“As a teammate or as...you know?”

Glenn smiles a sad smile, “I miss everything about playing. It’s bearable now but I still fucking miss it. All of it, everything. Especially being partners with Chris. I got lucky with him. But it’s more the other thing these days.” 

Felix remembers how easily Chris won over their father. He’d sat across the table with his sandy hair, gem bright green eyes, and a warm smile. But most importantly, Glenn, who at the time, had still been quiet and sullen, gazed at him with awe and respect. 

Felix had amazed that anyone could make his brother do that. He’d been even more amazed that Glenn had just kinda let Chris walk out of his life. 

“You could have moved with him to Edmonton when he got traded,” Felix points out though the idea of his brother uprooting to Edmonton sounds strange to him.

Glenn exhales a bemused chuckle, “Yeah. I could have. But I didn’t. I think a part of me wanted to prove to myself that I didn’t need him. And I don’t. But I still miss him. I miss him a lot actually.” 

And Felix, being equally lonely, had not resisted half as hard as he could have. He knows if he really hadn’t wanted to come then he wouldn’t have. 

“Yeah. I guess it kind of is. It was a moment of selfish need. I was scared and lonely and I missed you a hell of a lot too kid. I shouldn’t have pushed you away when I got sick.” 

“You missed me?” It surprises Felix how much he’s surprised by the revelation. 

Indignation spread across every crease of Glenn’s face, “Yeah, I missed you! Do you know how hard it was for me to have you grow up and start your professional career on an entirely different continent? I didn’t get to see any of your first milestones in person. I had to read incredibly poorly translated Swedish articles to even know what was going on.” 

“Weren’t you teammates with some Swedes?” 

“Yeah, but I could only bug them to translate articles about my baby brother so often. And it wasn't the same anyway. I wanted to be there for that first shutout. And I wasn’t.” 

Neither of them mentions that their father wasn’t there either. Felix had earned his first shutout on foreign ice and not a single member of his family had seen it happen. And oddly enough, that had been just fine. 

“It’s okay,” Felix says, because of all the things he’s been mad at Glenn for, over the years, this has never been one of them, “You were there for me when I thought I’d never play again. I didn’t do that for you so...” 

The words feel clumsy on his tongue, Sylvain is the only other person he’s ever verbalized this guilt to. 

A small pained gasp slips through Glenn’s ever so slightly opened mouth, “Flex.  _ Felix,”  _ He corrects before clearing his throat and continuing, “I didn’t want you to see me like that. I was angry and bitter about things that I couldn’t control. I took it out on people that didn’t deserve it. I didn’t want you to be one of those people. You have a gift for seeing the potential in people and I was a total mess, I was scared it was going to be ugly.” 

“Potential in people?” Felix asks. No one has ever accused him of being a people person. 

“You have this tendency to see the good in people. I suppose you also see the bad but I think mostly you see good. You see good in people even when they don’t see it in themselves. And nothing drives you more insane than someone not living up to that potential. At that point in my life, I wasn’t. I was dangerously close to just giving up. But I’m trying to be better now, I’m working on bettering myself, I’m rebuilding the bridges I burned.” 

Puzzle pieces start to slide together in Felix’s mind. He’s always been slightly unnerved by Glenn 2.0. This version of Glenn who is so kind and compassionate, who listens and doesn’t laugh when Felix cries. He’d never stopped to consider that this was no magical transformation, that Glenn is trying hard to deliberately better himself. 

Felix takes a moment to marinate in this concept. He thinks of how utterly frustrated he’d initially been with Sylvain’s self-sabotaging behavior. But then as he’s slowly started to see beyond it and understand it, he’s just become more motivated to see him grow. Perhaps, he thinks, this is not a stand-alone case. He thinks of Dimitri, a first-round pick who the only person keeping him from being NHL ready, is himself. Perhaps, Glenn knows him better than he knows himself. 

“Oh,” Felix exhales, “I didn’t know.”

“Yeah. That was kind of the idea. Anyway, I was lonely and I got scared that you were lonely too. And for some reason, I got fucking terrified that you didn’t love hockey anymore and were just playing out of obligation. Obligation to our family, to our name, to  _ my  _ unfinished business. I was really scared of losing you for good. I’m sorry I begged you to come home. I’m sorry if it’s upset you to be back. That was never my intention.” 

“No. No, I still love it,” Felix honestly insists. The last month he’s felt more alive than he had for a long time and he finds that he craves to be on the ice again, “I just, just sometimes I forget that I do. Sometimes I need to be reminded of why.” 

“Yeah. I get it.” 

“It hasn’t upset me to be back. It’s been, I mean I think it’s been good actually.” 

Glenn flashes a pleased grin, “Yeah? Then I can say without guilt that if you do move on after this season ends I will miss you again. But I also will be incredibly proud of you no matter where you go.” 

“I mean. I haven’t actually decided what I’m going to do next year.” 

“I thought you were kind of set on going back to Sweden?” 

Felix laughs, “I thought I was too.” 

It had been what he’d been telling himself ever since he first signed the contract and started playing with the Lions. That he would go back. That at the end of all of this he would go back to Sweden and leave this whole mess behind. He’d go back to being alone and away from everything and everyone he was tired of. And for a long time, it had helped. But lately, everything has been turned on its head and wrong feels right and right feels wrong and he’s still trying to sort out which way is up.

“Oh? Have you found a reason to stay?” 

“I’m not sure yet. Maybe,” Felix hopes that Glenn doesn’t notice the way that his gaze flickers towards the restaurant patiently waiting for him and his companion.

“You still have months to figure it out.” 

“I suppose. But I have a feeling I’m going to know sooner than that.” 

Maybe as soon as tonight if the cards fall correctly. 

“Guess we’ll see,” Glenn says with a smile that’s a little too all-knowing for Felix’s liking, “Also, you should probably head in for real this time. You don’t want to keep an NHL first star of the night waiting.” 

“Don’t stay out too late,” Felix fires back. 

“You’re worried about me now?” 

Felix waves a dismissive hand as he climbs out of the car, “I just don’t want you to be in a bad mood at morning skate tomorrow morning.” 

“Alright, alright. Be safe Felix.” 

The dark parking lot is a maze of puddles leftover from the previous night’s storms and so Felix finds himself focusing so hard on hopping his way through a safe path that he doesn’t notice the familiar figure approaching from behind. 

“Hey,” Sylvain greets. 

Caught off guard, Felix whirls around and if not for Sylvain reaching out to steady him, would have ended up hip down in a puddle.

“Hey,” Felix manages as he forces his heart rate back down to normal, “You made it.” 

“Yeah! Thanks for being willing to reschedule. We tried to fly out last night but it was storming here so we didn’t arrive until a couple of hours ago.” 

“I suppose that gives you a pass for not playing today.” 

“Hey, I’m sorry.” 

Felix notes that Sylvain is genuinely apologetic. He’s apologized for many things that he can’t control but one he seems serious about. 

“It’s alright. I didn’t play either, so.” 

“You did play on Wednesday though. Heard you guys absolutely destroyed the Reign.” 

“Yes, He’d been oddly nervous going into the game but they’d scored 47 seconds into the first and never looked back, “You missed Dimitri’s hat-trick.” 

“I have faith that he’ll have more of those.” 

“And if you were here I don’t think we would have given up a shorty,” He frowns as he recalls the low point of the otherwise successful game. 

“Oh. Obviously. I am the superior defenseman on the power-play.” 

Sylvain flashes a familiar brilliant smile complete with a wink and Felix takes time to study him. They haven’t seen each other since Tuesday night, Sylvain having flown out to meet the Avs in California early Wednesday morning. It’s the longest they’ve gone without seeing each other in over a month. 

It’s hard to tell in the flickering yellowish light but something seems different about Sylvain. Is he skinnier? Perhaps but unlikely. Taller? No. Perhaps he’s simply holding his shoulders a little straighter. Or is it really possible to forget how someone looks over the course of just a few days?

Felix thinks of the first time they stood in front of this very restaurant. How reluctant he'd been to even show up. How he'd just wanted to get through it as fast as possible just so his brother/coach couldn't hold it over it. And now, here he is actually excited to see Sylvain. It doesn't feel real. 

“You okay?” Sylvain tips his head as he holds the rickety door open for Felix. 

“I’m fine. How’s your head? No concussion?” 

“No concussion,” Sylvain echos. 

It’s not surprising. Word on the street had been that Sylvain had passed concussion protocol but he’d still mildly uneasy. It had been late in the third when Sylvain took a bad hit from behind and stayed down for a little too long. He’d immediately been sent back to the room for testing and it was late enough in the game that there wouldn’t have been an opportunity for him to return to the bench even if he was fine.

No one on the Avs roster had taken kindly to that and for one thrilling moment, Felix had thought it might result in a bench-clearing brawl. 

“So you’re cleared to play tomorrow.”

Tomorrow when they battle Tucson for first place in the Pacific. 

“That’s the idea.” 

The host leads them to their table which finds them tucked protectively into a corner. Felix appreciates the fake sense of privacy. 

He scans the menu but his mind is elsewhere, “You’re not too good for us now that you’ve scored in the Big League?”

Sylvain’s menu clatters to the table as he looks up, horror etched on his face, “No! Of course not. I love it here. It’s actually going to be a big relief playing with teammates who I personally know and I’m not terrified of forgetting their names.” 

“What? You’re just going to forget Gabriel Landeskog and Nathan MacKinnon?” 

“Well, _hopefully_ not!” 

“I hear that Gabe still has the team doing pushups if you collide in warmup.” 

“Yeah! So you try very hard not to collide.” 

“Makes sense. They made you do the rookie lap too didn’t they?” 

Sylvain’s face contorts in a half pout, half scowl, “That they did and my skate definitely caught on a camera cord and I very nearly ended up flat on my face.” 

“Pity. Would have liked to see that.” 

“Thanks. Your support means a lot.” 

A familiar young teenage girl meanders on over and disinterestedly takes their order. 

Felix turns his attention back to Sylvain, “I mean it can’t have been all bad. You scored a goal in your very first NHL game after all.” 

“God. I wasn’t even shooting to score,” The words come out muffled as Sylvain buries his face in his hands. 

Feeling uncharacteristically generous, Felix shrugs and admits, “You have a wicked shot.” 

“Oh. Uh, thanks. Ingrid taught me. I completely changed my shooting style in the second half of high school which sounds insane but it’s done wonders for me.” 

Unlike many defensemen patrolling the point, Sylvain rarely bothers to wind all the way up for a slap-shot, relying instead almost entirely on wrist and snap-shots. And just like Ingrid’s they’re deceptively difficult to stop. 

“It got you your first NHL goal before your first AHL goal of the season.”

Sylvain exhales sharply as his smile transforms into a grimace, “Yeah, I imagine I’m going to be hearing about that from the boys tomorrow eh?” 

“Oh certainly.” 

No one has really been bothered by the fact that Sylvain hasn’t been scoring for the Lions. He’s not known as an offensive defenseman and he’s been putting up assists anyway. However, scoring so quickly in the NHL where the glory is is likely to earn him some chirping from the room. 

“I suppose I do owe you guys a goal,” Sylvain concedes entirely casually. 

“You’re really not bothered about being returned to the AHL are you?” 

“It was an emergency callup. It was never going to be a long term thing.” 

Felix studies Sylvain’s face for any trace of deception. If it’s there he can’t see it, “Right. It’s just that a lot of people that I know would be frustrated by getting a taste of what they’d been working for all these years only then to have to go back to the minors even when they know it’s coming.” 

It had taken himself years to realize that part of the reason he’s been so reluctant to even try and play North American professional hockey is the fear that he’s not actually good enough to play in the NHL. 

Considering this, Sylvain tips his head. His neck cracks and his whole body shivers at the ugly sound, “Yeah, there is some of that I guess. Like, for so long this has just been a dream, a fantasy and now that I’ve played in the NHL it’s a million times more real than it was before. It’s suddenly actually achievable. Which, if you asked Sylvain from even just four years ago if he actually thought he would play in the NHL much less score, he would have laughed in your face and then offered to buy you a drink. But now I have actual evidence that there’s a nonzero chance that I could actually play in the NHL full time and that’s insane.” 

It is insane. It’s thrilling and it’s terrifying and it’s insane. 

“But that’s not all of it?” 

“I mean it’s a Lot. It’s beautiful, the lights, the crowd, the theatrics of it all. It’s all stunning and as amazing as I always dreamed it would be. But it’s a lot. It’s loud and it’s bright and every second of it is being broadcast on national television. And my brain doesn’t always do well with that much input all at once, especially unexpectedly like this. I get up in my head, I overthink, I overanalyze. I start to spiral.” 

“Spiral?” 

Sylvain’s eyes narrow but his expression goes otherwise blank as he attempts to explain, “Yeah. Spiral. I do things that are not the best for me. I fall back into a bunch of old habits that I have worked extremely hard to kick. It’s incredibly difficult for me to be the best version of myself when I’m alone and scared, overwhelmed, and insecure all of the time. I mean if they need me I can do it but I’m not ready to do it full time just because. Here I’m with people who I know and I trust, I’m playing with people who I personally care about and want to do right by. It’s easier for me to focus and when I’m able to focus I’m able to be a better hockey player and a better person.” 

Felix thinks again of Glenn speaking of working to better himself as a person ever since his forced retirement and recovery. 

“You’re actually happy here.” 

“Yeah. I am. I mean I do want to win the Stanley Cup someday. I still want that. But, and this is going to sound incredibly selfish because it is, I don’t want to do it as a random callup. And yes, I understand that there are still months left before the playoffs even start and I would get a chance to bond with my new teammates but I want to win with people that I care about. It’s what gives it meaning.” 

“This is what? Your second season here? You’re already attached to this team?” 

“Sometimes things take time. But sometimes things just feel right. I’m happy here, I care for this team. I want to play for the Lions as long as they’ll have me and maybe someday I’ll play for the Avs for more than one game.” 

Felix’s head spins as all he can think of is how Sylvain has found his reason to stay. He loves his team and he’s happy here. Could that be enough for Felix as well?

Their food arrives, a welcome distraction. Felix takes the excuse to go silent and introspective. 

“Felix?” 

“What?” 

Sylvain hesitates for a second before cautiously asking, “You actually watched the game last night?”

Felix’s attention goes deliberately down to the table, “Yes. I watch most Avs games. It’s good research. And Dimitri came over to talk to Glenn about some stuff and he stayed to watch the game.” 

“Oh! That’s...that’s something.” 

Felix’s hand goes to fidget with his hair but finds only air, the knot he tied in the car still tight, “I don’t think I’m mad at him anymore,” It’s a quiet admission but it feels good to say. 

“You don’t?” The smile on Sylvain’s face grows, “Like you guys talked it out?” 

“No. Not like that. And we’re not okay yet. We’re still very far from okay. But I just realized that maybe I’m not too angry to try anymore.” 

They’re not okay. They haven’t addressed any of the multitude of issues that have driven them apart. But when he’d looked over at Dimitri sitting on the couch, sitting on his couch, Felix had found that he wasn't filled with the familiar burning anger. He had felt cold and distant but that was understandable for someone he hadn’t properly talked to for years. 

But the long-standing anger had faded. Perhaps it is true that time heals all wounds. Perhaps just being in the same locker room for an extended period of time has done them some good. Or perhaps, the fear that had been the driving force behind the anger is fading. Perhaps he is not as afraid as he used to be. 

“That’s amazing.” 

“It’s weird.” 

Sylvain smiles as he nods, “Yeah. Life has been weird lately hasn’t it?” 

“I suppose it has.” 

“Last night I was talking with Ingrid. And she was telling me about how girls from the national team are starting to prepare to fundraise for the Olympics. And it really hit me, even though it's still a year and change out, Ingrid is going to be an Olympian.” 

“That she is.” 

Now that she’s a regular on the national team, it’s all but set in stone that, barring catastrophe, Ingrid will be on the Olympic roster come next year. Three years ago, when she’d been 18, she came devastatingly close to making the team. 

She’d missed a decent chunk of her season recovering from surgery and with it lost valuable scouting time. Even so, she’d fought her way through tryouts only to be the last person cut before departing for the games. 

Felix suspects that the wound still hasn’t quite healed. 

“Would you go if you were asked again?” 

“Well, my brother isn’t dying anymore so if for some fucking reason the national team for a country I have never lived in my life and am only a citizen of because of my dead mother decides to ask me to be on their team again after I turned them down last time, sure, I’d go.” 

He remembers the day he got the call from a team he didn’t even know he was eligible to play for, asking if he’d like to be on their Olympic team. They’d stood little to no chance of actually being a competitive team but with a netminder like him, their odds would certainly have been better. 

But he’d still been too raw, too angry, too scared after almost losing Glenn that he’d said no without a second thought. And as such, life had marched on. 

“Do you want to?” 

“Yes. Ever since I was a little kid I wanted to be an olympian. So if I'm in a league that allows me to go and there’s a team that wants me. I’ll go.”

He doesn’t think about the Olympics as much as he once did but the child inside him in not dead, just hiding until it’s safe to come out and he still longs for that dream. 

“I thought the SHL was cool with players going.” 

“Yeah. If I’m in the Swedish Elite League or AHL next year, I’ll be fine.” 

The realization hits Sylvain, pushing his chair back away from the table, “You think you might be in the NHL next year?” 

“I don’t know where I’ll be next year,” Felix admits again. 

Felix finds that he can’t read the expression Sylvain plasters on, “You seemed pretty certain you were going back to Sweden.” 

“I thought I was.” 

“I see, ” Sylvain politely says, in a way that says he clearly doesn’t see. 

The world goes a little fuzzy around the edges and Felix grips the edge of his chair to keep from falling out. He’s running out of time to ask the thing he’s been stuck on all week. He refused to raise his eyes as he quietly asks, “What if I didn’t go back? What if I stayed?” 

Sylvain waits. His lips move silently as he counts, one, two, three, before responding, “What do you mean?” 

“What would you think?” 

Sylvain straightens in his seat, sets his chin high, and puts on a kind smile, “I think the Avalanche organization or any NHL organization would be lucky to have you. I think you could do great things.” 

It’s total bullshit that even this is enough to tug at him. To make him say that maybe this is enough and he should just quit while he’s ahead. It’s hard to explain how nice it is to be believed in. 

But the other part of him knows that he’ll never truly be able to get over this. Letting go of things has never been one of his strengths.

So he soldiers on and somehow he finds himself making eye contact with Sylvain Gautier as he adds, “But what about  _ you _ personally? Do you think I should stay?” 

“ _Felix._ ”

His name sounds broken falling from Sylvain’s barely parted lips. 

“Do you want me to stay?” Felix clarifies because now that he’s started putting this out in the world he cannot leave until he gets an answer. 

“I. Felix. I,” Sylvain desperately sucks air between his teeth. It hits Felix that this is the first time that he’s seen Sylvain genuinely at a complete loss for words. It makes him seem younger than he’s ever looked before. 

Sylvain presses his eyes shut and Felix figures that’s that. That’s got to be a no. Maybe he can convince his brother to pull some strings and get him traded before the season actually ends so he doesn’t have to deal with the fall out of whatever the fuck this is. 

“It’s fine,” He tries to say but his throat is too tight and the words die before they make it out into the world. 

Sylvain’s hands collide with the table, shaking everything on it, “Of course I want you to stay. But I can’t ask you to do that. I’m really fucking selfish but I’m not  _ that _ selfish. I mean I like this. I like this a lot. I like what having you on the team has done for us as a whole. I like the way that I feel when I’m around you. _I like you_. I want you to stay but I can’t be the one who tells you to.” 

Felix searches for something, anything to say but his mind and his mouth have completely disconnected from each other. Somewhere off to his left a woman laughs, the delighted sounds faraway, muffled and tinny but it’s enough to remind Felix that he’s in public and passing out would probably be more trouble than it’s worth as a solution. 

“I’m sorry,” Sylvain abruptly says. 

Felix’s tongue finally obeys his commands to move, “For what?” 

Sylvain laughs, an extremely uneasy sound, “You’re staring at me like I’ve lost my mind. Which I sort of have.” 

Sylvain slumps backward against his chair, suddenly exhausted. 

“No,” Felix says, unable to put together anything more coherent. 

“No?” 

“I like this too. And the way it makes me feel. I like that too. Maybe I like you too,” Felix finds himself tripping over his shaking words but when the world doesn’t open up beneath him, he realizes that he believes every one of them. 

He once told Sylvain he was scared of just dying a hockey player and nothing more. He told Glenn that sometimes he needs to be reminded that he loves hockey. He knows now that that’s what this last month has been doing for him, it’s been reviving him and he really doesn’t want to lose that. 

“ _Oh,_ ” Sylvain gasps, hands going to his chest as if suddenly wounded there. 

Felix takes advantage of the combination of Sylvain’s stunned silence and his own rapidly growing confidence to keep talking, “It’s only been a short period of time but I’m not sure I want to leave anymore. I found what I’d lost which is less surprising. But I’ve also found something new. And I don’t know how or why but I don’t mind it and I’m not sure I want to lose it.” 

“Yeah,” Sylvain nods, still breathless but no longer pulling away. His eyes glitter in a way that Felix has never seen before and Felix has to raise a hand to his own cheek to realize that they’re both on the verge of tears.

“I don’t understand what’s happening between us,” Felix confesses. He’s never gone out of his way in life to make room for other people. But now he’s forced to spend time with another person and despite himself, he doesn’t hate it. But now it’s ending and he’s at a complete loss of how to proceed. 

Sylvain turns his palms face up, his fingers working at grasping empty air, “I’m not sure either.” 

“So what do we do?” 

“I don’t think we can force it. Which is hard because I sort of have two modes for most things. Trying too hard and not trying at all.” 

Curious, Felix tips his head, “Which one are you in now?” 

“I’m not sure actually.” 

Felix considers Sylvain without the added bravado or the false apathy, “Maybe you should stop trying so hard to not try.” 

A genuine smile blooms on Sylvain’s face, “Maybe I should.” 

“Where do we go from here? This the end of what Glenn told us to do together.” 

He’s still a little scared, still a little lost. 

Sylvain takes a long deep breath, in for eight, out for eight before managing to meet Felix’s worried eyes, “I swear Felix Fraldarius, if you will have me, I will take you on a proper date.”

The stubborn part of Felix that has always pushed away from people almost says no. The amused part of him that has heard the stories of Sylvain’s disastrous dating history almost laughs in his face. But the last part of him. The part of him that wants this more than he can even explain, pushes the others aside. 

“You still owe me a trip to the theater don’t you?” 

Delight lights up Sylvain’s eyes, “That I do. Done.” 

“Is that a promise?” 

“Yes,” Sylvain whispers, reaching forward to lace the fingers on his left hand through Felix’s right. 

Sylvain goes quiet as his eyes close and all Felix feels is Sylvain’s blood pulsing in his palm, “Are you alright?” 

Sylvain nods ever so slightly, but doesn’t open his eyes, “I just need a moment to just breathe. This week has been crazy. I saw a friend I hadn’t seen in months. I played in the NHL. I scored in the NHL. I almost had my neck broken in the NHL. And now... this. Sometimes I still forget that I’m an adult and things actually happen to me now.” 

Felix blows through his teeth, failing to whistle, “We saw Ingrid on Tuesday. That kind of feels like a lifetime ago.” 

“It really does,” Sylvain chuckles before squeezing Felix’s hand even tighter, “And don’t tell Ingrid but this right here might be my favorite part.” 

Heat rises on Felix’s cheeks but there's no escape, “It’s one of my favorites too.” 

Sylvain all but throws his credit card down at the cheque the uninterested teenager delivers to their table without even bothering to look at it. 

Felix’s thoughts dance to Glenn, wondering how he’s doing with Chris. Have they admitted how much they need each other? The line of thought is interrupted by the reminder that Glenn will not be coming to pick him up, “Sylvain?” 

“Yeah?” 

“I need a ride home. My brother is on a date.” 

“It would be my honor and pleasure to give you a ride home.” 

And for the first time, Felix doesn’t actually mind. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you as always for reading and supporting me!!  
> Next time: Things get wrapped up for real! :-o
> 
> Optional Reading, well watching: Not an article but the Avs and their pushups after colliding in warmup was a very real thing https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QR6XuiNj0U4


	10. After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bonding officially in the books, it's time to start thinking about what comes next.   
> Sylvain learns he's not so different from Glenn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!!!!!  
> It has been a Hot Minute and I'm so sorry for taking so long but we're here! Thank you everyone for all of your support and patience! It means so much and I would not have been able to finish this!
> 
> You might notice that is now out of 11 chapters instead of 10 that's because I was initially going to stick the epilogue in this chapter with it but figured it deserved its own chapter. That should be coming within the few hours or so!

##  **_SATURDAY OCTOBER 27 PHOENIX ROADRUNNERS @ FHIRDIAD LIONS (0-6) W_ **

##  **_MONDAY OCTOBER 29 CHICAGO WOLVES @ FHIRDIAD LIONS (2-3) W_ **

##  **_TUESDAY OCTOBER 30, After Practice_ **

“Sylvain, come on in.”

Sylvain slides his way into the small office. He hesitates and then gently presses the door shut behind him. 

The office is cozier, almost homier than most Sylvain has been in. The bookshelves are crammed with mismatched books, binders, and knick-knacks. Photos of who must have been Glenn’s teammates with the Avalanche sit on proud display. 

Sylvain wonders what kind of strength it takes to have been hurt so badly by the past and still able to look at it every day. 

Whatever it is, he doubts he’ll ever have it. 

On the far side of the desk, there is a rolling chair but its seat is piled high with unopened boxes of tape. His head coach instead occupies the majority of the desk space. 

Glenn sits, left leg dangling off the edge, eyes focused on the thin document he holds in his hands. He’s removed his prosthetic, Sylvain notes and it, along with a pair of well-used crutches lean within easy reach. 

Sylvain shuffles awkwardly. At the quiet rustle of the carpet, Glenn lifts his head and snaps the blue folder he’d been reading shut. 

“Felix is still wrapping up with the trainers but he shouldn’t be too long. I wanted to talk to both of you but since I have you alone for a few minutes, mind if we chat?” 

“No,” Sylvain says because, despite the mounting dread in his gut, he’s pretty sure that you don’t say no to your head coach unless you’re looking for trouble.

“Perfect,” Glenn flashes a brilliant smile, and Sylvain is almost taken aback at how easy it is. When he’s coaching, Glenn is serious. Not cruel or mean. But serious. Getting a smile out of him then is no small feat, “I’ve been meaning to chat with you ever since you got back but things have been a little hectic for the past few days. Anyway did you ever get tape for the two games you missed while you were with the Avs?” 

Sylvain gnaws on his lip, “No. Was I supposed to?” He’d been exhausted when he'd returned from his brief stint with the Avs and while he’s tried his best to take responsibility for making his transition back as smooth as possible but 

“Do you want it?” 

“Um. Sure.” 

Glenn chuckles, “You can say no. I won’t be offended. It doesn’t seem like you’re having any trouble fitting back in. Just sometimes players who are more tactically minded like to see the games they didn’t play in.” 

Sylvain clears his throat and speaks with more certainty, “No, I’d like to see them.” 

For a couple of seconds, Glenn waits, his smile frozen politely on his face as his eyes scan Sylvain carefully from head to toe, “Okay, great. I’ll make sure those get emailed to you tonight. We’re not dealing with physical tapes that you have to check-in and out anymore.” 

“Thank you.” 

“You know, I don’t think I ever got the chance to properly congratulate you either,” Where he sits, Glenn straightens his spine and his smile spreads even wider, “It’s not easy just slotting into the lineup like that.” 

A lot of people have said a lot of nice things to Sylvain in the last few days and he still cannot for the life of him figure out how to respond. And it feels different too, hearing it from his Head Coach. From a young man who not that long ago was playing for that very team. 

“Thank you,” Sylvain finally repeats, as the loading wheel in his brain continues to spin and spin. 

“There’s something else I’ve been meaning to ask you about,” Glenn continues to smile but it’s suddenly nervous. He makes an admirable attempt to disguise it but Sylvain catches the way that his voice wavers. 

“Oh yeah? Shoot,” Sylvain’s feet itch for the door. He wants to run, wants to flee, wants to get the hell out of here. There’s no way in hell this is good. Things have been good for too long and he got complacent and now it’s coming back to bite him. 

He keeps his feet planted where they stand. He’s gotten good at this, at overriding his fight or flight instincts and just stay put and take whatever comes his way. 

Pain prickles in his palms as his fingernails dig in.

Glenn’s attention goes to his lap before he takes a breath and meets Sylvain’s eyes, “My father is the one who scouted and recruited you isn’t he? About three years ago?” 

The lump in Sylvain’s throat knocks loose as he forces his tongue to form words, “Yeah. In college. I was a junior when he approached me but I wanted to finish school. Luckily he came back the next year.”

Sylvain still remembers seeing Rodrigue in the stands. Older and more tired than he had been when he’d played for the Avs but still easily recognizable as Someone Important. There were whispers in the dressing room about NHL scouts coming to their games. 

It barely even crossed Sylvain’s mind that they’d be watching him alongside all of his teammates. He had young teammates who were draft-eligible and older teammates already drafted. There was no reason for attention to be on him. 

And yet Rodrigue had approached him, oddly subdued for a man infamous for his cheerful disposition with an offer that tore Sylvain’s heart in half. 

An offer than Sylvain had ultimately turned down because he was too scared to lose what he had at college. When Rodrigue had returned the next year, notably more cheerful and offered the same tryout, for perhaps the first time in his years on earth, Sylvain had believed in a higher power that was granting him a second chance. 

The desk starts to shake as Glenn’s left leg bounces, “Do you know why you interested him?” 

No. Sylvain doesn’t. He’s thought about it. Fuck there have been days where he’s thought about it way too much. But he’s gotten pretty good at putting it out of his mind. 

His try out at prospects camp came at an inopportune time. He was recovering from a high ankle sprain and while the injury wasn’t severe enough to keep him off the ice, it throbbed the entire eight days he was there. 

At the end of the last day, after the final scrimmage that had been observed by what felt like every single coaching and management staff in the organization, the Avs had taken the forty-some-odd prospects on a hike. 

Between the uneven terrain sending a bolt of pain through his injured leg with every step and the thin Denver air refusing to provide his body with oxygen, Sylvain had been moments away from just curling up on the edge of the trail and staying there. 

But when they’d returned to the arena, he’d been summoned into an office larger and darker than this one and promptly asked to get his agent on the phone so they could talk terms. He was lucky that Gus picked up because at that moment Sylvain would have taken a half-chewed pack of gum and a nickel in exchange for his service. 

When all was said and done he’d inked his entry-level contract. A professional contract. He hadn’t dared to ask why because he was too scared at what he might be told.

“No. Not that I remember at least.” 

“Well. I have one of his written scouting reports on you,” Glenn taps lightly his right wrist with the folder that he’d been studying when Sylvain entered the room, “Want to hear the CliffNotes edition?” 

On one hand, Sylvain is pretty sure his doom is in that folder, but on the other, he’s also pretty certain that there is a correct answer here, and not giving it will only make things more painful. And of late he’s been trying to get out of the habit of deliberately picking the decisions that make things more painful, “Uh. I mean. Sure?” 

Easily he flicks the folder open and smooths out the top page before starting to read, eerily calm, “ _Sylvain Jose Gautier. Age 21. Junior on the Pennsylvania State University Men’s Hockey Team. Listed at 6’1, 185. Right shooting defenseman._ But let’s skip to the interesting parts. _Highlights: High Hockey IQ and Game Sense. Good acceleration leads to a deceptive amount of speed. Positions like a stay at home defenseman but has an above-average shot. Weaknesses: Stamina; loses that sharp quickness by midway through the third period. Discipline: averages between one to two minor penalties a game, many of which could be classified as unnecessary, especially with his penalty-killing ability_.”

Glenn pauses and Sylvain remembers to exhale. He hasn’t been annihilated yet. He knows he had weaknesses. He knows he still has weaknesses. Even so, with the Lions fitness coaches and program his stamina has improved by leaps and bounds. His temper hasn’t exactly gotten better but at least he takes fewer penalties at inopportune times. 

Glenn’s voice remained level as his eyes travel down the page. 

“And,” Glenn continues, “Player Comparable: Glenn Fraldarius.” 

His expression and tone remain unreadable and he says it as blandly if he’d just said: “And his favorite food is plain oatmeal.” But there’s no doubt in Sylvain’s mind that this is exactly the part that Glenn wanted him to hear. 

Suddenly he’s twelve years old again, and his parents are showering him with everything he could need and his brother is lurking just around the corner waiting to take it all from him. 

His arms rise in an X over his chest. It’s protection, Protection from what he’s not sure, but Sylvain feels safer with them crossed over his body like that. 

Glenn seems too lost in his own thoughts to notice the panic rising in Sylvain. 

“Oh. Huh,” Sylvain manages, surprised that even one-syllable words don’t come out shaking. 

Some of the ice starts to melt away from Glenn’s face, “Yeah. You reminded him of me.” 

Sylvain steadies himself and attempts to put together a more comprehensive thought, “That’s. That’s an honor. I mean, holy shit.” 

Glenn consults the paper one more time but whatever he’s looking for doesn’t change, “This report is dated before I collapsed. But it isn’t the only time he went to watch you play. Over the next 18 months, he made at least 4 more trips out to see you. And those were all after I got sick.”

Sylvain’s right-hand searches for and finds one of the bookshelves, giving something to support himself on, “You think he was trying to replace you.”

“I know he was trying to replace me. He’s a scout. His job is literally to identify talent that fits the needs of the team. Normally it’s about finding potential draft picks, free agents, or trade targets. But sometimes your young players get really sick and you suddenly have to figure out how to fix that hole both in the short and long run.” 

A wall has broken and now there’s emotion in Glenn’s, in his everything. In his voice, on his face, in his body language. Frustration, obviously. Hurt. Some things that Sylvain can’t quite name but ache in his soul all the same. And the remnants of shattered pride. 

“Do you hate me?” Sylvain asks because when life is that cruel and unfair you’re left hating something. Someone. And he would hardly blame Glenn if that someone was him. m

“Why?” This clearly was not the response Glenn was expecting as he startles back into his body, “No. I don’t.” 

“My older brother resented me my entire childhood for everything I got that he didn’t because I was a replacement for him.” 

“You have an older brother?” 

Sylvain winces. It was a mistake to mention Miklan. How can he explain that to Glenn, to his head coach, to the loving, caring older brother to his...his, to Felix? 

“Older half brother,” He finally corrects, “And we’re not like you and we're not close. We’re not family.” 

“I see,” Glenn says with a glint in his eye that comes dangerously close to actually understanding, “But no. I don’t hate you. There was a time perhaps when I hated the concept of you. But it's been years and the team has moved on and so have on. I want them to find success and I think you could be a valuable part of that.”

Sylvain should feel relief. He knows he should feel relief. But he doesn’t. He knows how to be hated. He’s pretty damn good at being hated. But expectations are a whole other ball game. Expectations from a first-round draft pick. From a kid who, if you ask anyone who knows anything about hockey in Colorado, was robbed of the Calder, “I can’t. I can’t do what you did.” 

The scouting folder softly lands on top of a pile of binders, “I didn’t see the similarities at first either but over time I realized that we don’t see ourselves play. The closest we can come is watching  tape and even that isn’t the real thing. I’m beginning to think we do have a lot in common. Though much of which my father could not possibly know about.” 

“Is that so?” There’s always been a dangerous level of curiosity in Sylvain and perhaps someday it will get him killed. 

Glenn nods and Sylvain has no choice but to accept that he’s telling the truth, “I think we have similar playing mindsets. We’re both defense centric defensemen. I think we both would give anything for our team and I know that can be said about most players but I sense a desperation in you that reminds me of myself. There’s the fact that neither of us will take slap shots if we can help it. Who taught you how to shoot?” 

“Ingrid did,” Warmth blooms in Sylvain’s chest just at the memory. Ingrid, a freshman unafraid of correcting the technique of Sylvain, a junior. 

Glenn laughs a pure musical sound. Like his father, Sylvain thinks. That means Felix’s soft but magical laugh comes from their mother.

“My father taught her. He also incidentally also taught me. If you ask Felix, our father’s favorite child is Ingrid because she’s the only one of us who actually uses what he taught. It’s funny how these things work out sometimes isn’t it.” 

There’s an invisible tree stretching its branches and connecting them all. Perhaps that tree is what brought them all here. 

“Life is crazy sometimes.” 

“It is,” Glenn agrees before going serious again, “And I think, but feel free to correct me if I’m wrong, that we’re both trying very hard to be better people than we are.” 

Sylvain knows he is. For years now he’s been trying to add to the bare-bones structure that he was given to add some kind of substance that’s worth something. It’s exhausting but it’s what he does. 

He thinks now of Glenn. Of an older brother who apparently had once been aloof and serious but after almost losing his life has become kind and compassionate. That kind of change doesn’t happen on its own. Perhaps they do have more in common than Sylvain assumed. 

“I. Am not a good person.” 

It feels odd to admit this to someone who has power over him. But at the same time, it feels like the only thing to say. 

“But you’re trying.” 

Sylvain’s hand clamps over his mouth for a second as he stifles a laugh, “I’m trying so hard.” 

He might not like a lot of things about himself. He might not understand why he’s on this godforsaken planet. But there are people that he cares about so much, so fucking much that he’s determined to be a better person. 

And for some reason, his head coach’s younger brother is shaping up to be one of them. 

“It’s not easy to even try. I’m still working on figuring out which things I can and can’t change about myself. I think your determination and attitude can take you far in this field. That is, assuming it’s what you want to do?” 

“It is,” Sylvain promises, the words tumbling out faster than he expects. 

“Sooner or later, the Avs are going to need you. Not just for a game or two but for a real roster regular. I hope for my sake and the sake of this team that it’s not in the next six months. But come next fall I see no reason you shouldn’t be on the Avalanche roster.”

It’s terrifying to think about but at the same time, it’s oddly comforting. Sylvain knows that if he doesn’t make that roster when the season ends and his contract is up, there’s little chance the Avalanche organization will re-sign him. He’d be forced into free agency, trying to find a team that needed a defenseman like him. A new team, new friends, a new home. He doesn't want that.

And that’s if he gets lucky. There might not be a team out there for him. That would be the end of his professional hockey career. 

So, as scary as it is. He really wants to make that roster. 

“I mean that’s the goal, right? Be a player that the team can use?” 

“Yeah. It is. For most of my life, I assumed that someday I would play with my brother. If not with then against. I thought that I would be playing by the time he made the big league. Clearly, I won’t be.”

There’s disappointment lining Glenn’s words but he’s relaxed as if he’s decided he can trust Sylvain and so, in turn, Sylvain’s fight or flight instinct has started to recede. 

“Right.” 

“The Avs are going to need a new goaltender next year. If by some twist of fate, come next fall, that goaltender ends up being my brother and you’re also on that roster, I need something of you.” 

Glenn meets Sylvain’s eyes and Sylvain knows this is the ask that Glenn had been trying to get to the entire time. He had to pass the initial trials to even reach this point but since his earlier answers were satisfactory he gets the big ask. 

“Yeah?” 

“Will you be there for him as you've been for this last month? As I hope you’ll continue to be for the rest of the season?’ 

Sylvain wonders how much Glenn knows about him and Felix. It’s clear he’s noticed that they’re much closer than they used to be. Noticed that they’re actually compatible on the ice now. Noticed that they don’t dread spending time with each other off of it. But does he know about this rapidly developing deeper bond?

Perhaps it doesn’t matter. The answer is the same either way, “Yes. Of course.” 

"Well, that's the only way in which replacing me actually matters so I'm glad." 

Before Sylvain can really process what exactly he's been tasked with, t here’s a light knock on the door and it cracks open, “Hello?” 

“Flex. Come in.” 

Felix wiggles his way through the opening, colliding with Sylvain’s shoulder as he works his way into the room. Sylvain remembers they collided the first time they were in this office together. But this time it’s more affectionate rather than aggressive. 

“What are you talking about?” 

“The future.” 

Sylvain laughs at the way Felix’s nose wrinkles with total disgust.

“I’ve been looking for the opportunity to chat with both of you-,”

A voice echoing from down the hall cuts Glenn off, “Coach! There’s a package out here! They’re asking for you!”

“Shit. I have to go take care of that. You two, stay here,” Glenn grabs the pair of crutches and gracefully dismounts from the desk and makes his way towards the yelling voice. 

Felix presses his body against Sylvain’s to leave space for his brother to exit the room. This close Sylvain can see that Felix’s hair is still damp and he can’t quite resist the urge to run his fingers through Felix’s hair. 

Felix startles at the sensation but he doesn’t actually pull away.

Blue Kinesio tape that matches the stripes around Sylvain’s right leg peaks out the collar of Felix’s grey t-shirt. 

Sylvain runs a feather-light finger down Felix’s spine, “How’s your back?"

Felix turns to face Sylvain and tips his head up and after a moment of quiet consideration, “It was pulsed with electric current so now it’s great.” 

The tenseness that tied itself in a knot in his chest as he faced Glenn melts away as Sylvain gazes down into Felix’s eyes. He’s still not used to this level of casual intimacy between them. Just them finding the small moments. 

Sylvain’s hand trembles only slightly as he tucks a loose chunk of hair behind Felix’s ear. In an admirable attempt to keep from smiling Felix bites and chews on his lower lip. 

It’s somehow one of the most endearing things he’s ever seen. 

“Do you have superpowers now?” Sylvain teases. 

Felix lightly jabs two fingers into Sylvain’s shoulder accompanied by a semi amused eye roll, “I’ve been having e-stim on and off for the last 6 years, if I was going to get powers I think I would have gotten them by now.” 

A shiver passes through Sylvain’s body. Sometimes he thinks about how Felix still physically hurts, still aches from time to time from an injury that happened years ago. It’s not just some reaction in his head, the muscles in his back still get tight in all the wrong ways. 

Yesterday in the dressing room when he saw the knots firsthand, Sylvain had been scared to even touch them. Convinced he’d somehow make it worse. 

Felix laughed at that. Said they seemed worse than they felt. A little tightness was nothing compared to debilitating pain it used to be. 

It’s a pipe dream to want Felix never to be in pain again. It’s impossible. They’re professional athletes, if they have ever have another pain free day in their lives it will not be until long after they retire. 

So he can’t promise Felix a pain-free life. But if gently teasing him about physical therapy and e-stim makes Felix happy then Sylvain is more than content to do it forever. 

“Maybe you have them but you haven’t figured out how to activate them. Like they’ll come to you around danger.”

Skepticism floods Felix’s face as he takes a couple of steps away from Sylvain and raises both eyebrows, “Are you suggesting that I throw myself into danger?” 

“Of course not. I would be the one in danger,” The words are out in the world before Sylvain can really think them through and that’s not something he likes to do too often. 

The small office suddenly feels smaller and though it’s still just the two of them, Sylvain swears the oxygen level drops. 

He’s sort of stumbled himself into a corner again. Accidentally almost revealed just how much he trusts Felix. Trust is a human emotion after all. It’s something that exists between people, people teammates who are just teammates, and nothing more. 

But this is so much deeper than that. And on some level, he already trusts that Felix would save his life. Which is ridiculous. He’s felt that way about maybe 3 other people in the course of his entire being. 

“And I would come save you?” Felix sounds out his question, slow and shy in a way that he hasn’t really been since they realized they both want this. 

“That’s the idea, yeah.” 

Maybe you’ve already saved me. Sylvain thinks. He wouldn’t be handling the uncertainty of the future nearly this well if it weren’t for the steady routine of the last few weeks. And as much comfort as talking with Ingrid over the phone brings, there’s just something different about talking with someone he can touch. Who’s breath he can feel. Who isn’t preparing to start a life with someone else.

Just yesterday after practice, with a glare, Felix shoved a bag of ice into Sylvain’s hands before he could make his way down the hall to the trainers office. In high school, Sylvain perfected the art of avoiding the training staff and having to explain away his bruises and scars. In college that hadn’t been possible, and he’s slowly learned to accept people seeing him. But people noticing when he’s in pain is still new. 

He thinks it might not be so bad. 

Felix stops chewing on his lip, “Alright.” 

Unable to disguise his surprise, Sylvain grins, “Alright?” 

“I’d save you,” Felix concedes, “Just so that I could kick your ass for finding trouble.” 

“Hey, I don’t find trouble. Trouble finds me.” 

The line of Felix’s mouth tells Sylvain that he doesn’t buy Sylvain’s half-hearted protests. After a second though, it morphs into something more thoughtful and Felix hesitantly asks, “My brother wasn’t hassling you or giving you trouble was he?” 

“No. Why?” 

“You said it yourself,” Felix points out with a roll of his eyes, “You have a knack for finding trouble in the most unlikely of places.” 

Sylvain’s left leg starts to vibrate, “Ah, well yes but no. Everything’s fine. He just wanted to catch up on things.” 

Felix exhales, the sound audible from where Sylvain stands. Felix’s smile is small and shy but it’s so genuine that it’s intimate. Sylvain would give anything to just keep staring. But he doesn’t know how much time they have alone in this office and wants to know what they might be walking into when Glenn returns, so he asks, “Actually, did you tell him about us? It’s fine if you did.” 

“No. I didn’t.” 

Felix shakes his head and Sylvain’s mind buzzes. That means that Glenn’s request of him might have actually nothing to do with their new relationship. 

“Oh okay.”

“Was I supposed to? Should we?” Felix’s eyes narrow, his lips pressing into the start of a confused pout.

“It’s what you feel comfortable doing. I mean I don’t think he’ll have a problem with it?” 

“He dated his defense partner. He better not have a problem with it.” 

Right. Glenn’s defense partner. The adoptive older brother of one of their teammates. The lines that connect them all just keep drawing themselves. 

The thought of Christophe Gaspard brings Ashe to mind and a mischievous grin to Sylvain’s lips, “You know what? Yesterday when I got back to my apartment I saw Ashe heading out with Leclerc.” 

“From the Chicago Wolves?” 

“Yeah. They seem pretty close.” They’d seemed more than close, they’d seem intimate but casually so. The kind of familiarity you hope to be able to find in a person some day.

Felix takes a moment to muse on the concept, “Think anything will come of it?” 

“I don’t know,” Sylvain admits, “I think maybe.”

“Guess we’ll see in time.” 

“Yeah,” Sylvain’s fingers find Felix’s and squeeze, “Guess we will.” 

The clack of crutches approaching down the hallway pulls Felix and Sylvain apart just as Glenn swings his office door open. He hands his crutches off to Felix as he easily hops back onto the top of his desk, “Sorry about that. Some new cameras for coaching just showed up.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” Sylvain insists. 

“What do you want?” Felix asks.

“To check-in. It’s been four weeks. More than actually but close enough.” 

Sylvain is submerged in the memory of the dread that he’d been drowning in the last time they stood here together. There’s still dread in his gut but it’s different this time. He’s different. Hell, he thinks all three of them are probably different. He and Felix at least have gone through a stupid about of personal growth in a relatively short amount of time. 

“Wow,” He says softly.

“Yeah, I know right? Things have been going pretty fast. I’d say the season is officially well underway. So how would you say things are going?”

Sylvain’s eyes to Felix but it’s clear Felix expects him to speak first. It’s impossible really, to properly put into words how thankful he is to be on this team at this moment in time“Pretty good I think. I mean I’m happy with the way we’re playing right now.” 

Felix’s eyes fix firmly on a photo frame on one of the bookshelves, “We can still be better.” 

Instead of scoffing, Sylvain takes a measured breath, “Obviously. It’s still early in the season, stopping improving now would be doing us a huge disservice. But being happy is not the same thing as being satisfied.” 

He still wants to be better. A better person. A better player. A better everything. But, he's happy. He’s happy with the progress he’s made, he’s happy with the way that he’s contributing to the team. He’s happy. And he’s allowed to be happy even if he’s not perfect. 

Glenn nods, satisfied with this response. When he catches Sylvain’s eyes, he’s gently smiling, “Felix? Any other thoughts?” 

Felix breaks eye contact with the photo of his younger self, instead choosing to focus on the wall just above his brother’s head, “I think. I think that this team has more potential than I initially thought. I think we’re starting to show some of that potential in our play.” 

His words are slow, measured, and carefully picked but Sylvains hears no hints of insincerity. Felix is trying. He’s trying and that’s anyone can really ask. 

Glenn’s fingers slide easily through his hair before he quietly asks, “Not so bad after all?” 

“Not so bad,” Felix confirms, the back of his hand brushing against Sylvain’s leg. 

“So I don’t have to get you traded out of here right now?” 

“No.” 

Sylvain frowns, “Trade?” A week ago his biggest concern had been that Felix would sign with a team in Sweden at the end of the year. At the end of the year. That’s still months away. And if things go well between them, there’s a decent chance he’ll be able to convince Felix to stay. 

The idea of a trade hadn’t even entered his mind. It hadn’t occurred to him that the team might be shopping Felix around. 

To be separated by something out of their control at this stage might be devastating to their relationship.

Glenn shakes his head dismissively, “More than one team has come knocking asking what it would take to get Felix to waive his No Move Clause. But if he’s not unhappy here I can tell them that it’s not going to happen. We have no motive to move him right now anyway.” 

Felix looks first to Sylvain and then to his brother, “I’m not. I want to stay here.” 

There’s a finality to his words that’s so powerful that Sylvain draws blood from his own tongue as he keeps from crying out from the sheer amount of emotion coursing through him. 

Glenn too needs a moment to gather himself before looking at Felix and incredibly fondly saying, “I’m glad. You’ve been playing some damn good hockey lately Flex,” He turns his attention to Sylvain and gazes at him with more brotherly affection than he’s ever received from someone he shares blood with, “You both have. Sylvain, you’ve turned many heads as well.

Felix bites hard on his lip, “You’re saying people have noticed that we’re playing better than before.” 

“Yeah. Because you are.” 

Sylvain feels Felix’s questioning eyes on him as he searches for an explanation, “We’ve found our rhythm. It was missing when we were playing in preseason but we’ve found it.”

All three of them go quiet. Just take a moment to bask in the fact that the first time they were in this office together, they were unhappy and dysfunctional. Now they’re good enough that even other teams are taking note. 

Glenn, finally speaks, “Hell. So it really worked eh?” 

“You sound surprised,” Felix notes, thoroughly unimpressed.

“Not surprised exactly. Pleasantly satisfied.” 

Felix frowns, “You doubted us?” 

“Me? Doubt you? Never,” Glenn keeps his tone light in a way that makes it nearly impossible for Sylvain to figure out if it falls on the side of serious or joking. 

“So you doubted yourself?” 

“Look, I’m still new to this. Coaching, managing, all of it. I went with my gut and well, got results.” 

There’s bright pride shining in Glenn’s eyes and Sylvain notices that it feels good. It feels good to make someone else proud. 

“I thought you would gloat more.” 

“Come on Flex, I don’t need to gloat. Just knowing that you know that I was right is enough.” 

“Fuck you,” Felix retorts, easily lifting a single finger. 

Laughing, Glenn waves him off, “Yeah, yeah.” 

Sylvain hesitates before asking, “So we passed?” 

It feels a little silly to ask. It’s clear Glenn is happy with the outcome of his little experiment. The team sits on top of their division. And yet Sylvain has always needed to know things. 

“Hmm?” 

“Your assignment? We passed?” 

Understanding hits Glenn and he nods, “Yes Sylvain, you get a passing grade on your Coach Mandated Bonding. You are free from spending your free time with each other.” 

A chill passes through the tiny office and Felix and Sylvain turn to each other unison. Somehow they’d both forgotten that this was always the end goal. That they’d agreed to the plan, to spend two of their evenings a week together to that the end of it, they wouldn’t have to spend time together. 

But things are different now. And as far as rewards go, spending less time with Felix is not that high on Sylvain’s list.

Semi surprisingly, it’s Felix who finds his voice first, “What if we don’t want to?” 

“Hmm?” Glenn’s spine straightens as if for the first time he’s realizing that there’s something beyond teammate comradery between Felix and Sylvain.

Confidence growing, Felix clarifies, “What if we want to spend our free time together. Of our own free will?” 

Almost automatically, Glenn’s arms cross over his chest and he eyes the way his younger brother lifts his jaw defiantly, “I mean. You’re teammates. I’m not going to stop you.” 

Felix’s mouth twists with a pleased smirk as he turns to Sylvain, “Perfect. Sylvain, dinner tomorrow night? Mimi’s? You want to go?” 

“I. Yeah. Of course.” 

He can’t explain how relieved he is. As much as he’s looking forward to whatever new adventures they’re going to have together, not losing their weekly routine feels so safe. Like coming home. 

“It’s a date.” 

“It’s a date,” Sylvain echos. 

Glenn laughs, clearly baffled but not unkind, “You know, this is not what I had in mind when I set this up.” 

Rocking between his feet, Felix knocks his shoulder against Sylvain’s arm, “Oh I know.” 

“Just...” Glenn sighs and Sylvain inches closer to Felix for protection, “Flex I’m really fucking proud of you.” 

As his face turns an almost alarming color, Felix stutters a set of semi choked noises before pulling himself together, “I’m proud of you too G but maybe let’s leave the affection for the families that are actually good at it.” 

Glenn bows his head graciously with an amused chuckle, “All right. Well, that’s all I wanted to talk to you about. You two are free to go.” 

With a grin, Sylvain reaches over Felix’s shoulder and shoves the door open. Together they step into whatever comes next. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! 
> 
> Next time (!!!): The End for real this time (I will save my Final goodbye for that chapter but thank you for coming on this journey)
> 
> Optional reading: I can't believe I never shared anything about David Aryes, I'm here to fix that https://www.cbssports.com/nhl/news/emergency-goalie-david-ayres-helps-hurricanes-defeat-maple-leafs-in-wild-nhl-debut/


	11. Years Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short epilogue takes us a few years into the future

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, this is the End End which is literally insane to me. Thank you, all of you so fucking much for reading this and supporting me. I feel every emotion at once with this ending and I hope it is a satisfying end to this journey.

_ Three Years Later _

The horn sounds, signaling the end of the game. Sylvain can’t help but feel relief. He doesn’t need to look up at the scoreboard. There’s no point in confirming what he already knows. They’ve lost. Lost the game, lost the series, lost the Cup.

It wasn’t even a tight game, they just fell apart. No production from the offense, no shutdown from the defense. It was just a slow, painful slow-motion train wreck. It’s no one’s fault or maybe it’s everyone’s fault but either way, there are so many pointless excuses they could give; they’re tired, they’re hurt, they’re on the road, they’re a young experienced team compared to the veterans that Carolina has on their roster. 

Tomorrow some suited analysts in a studio will break the game down play by play and claim to be able to identify the exact moment that it all went wrong.

It doesn’t matter. They lost. 

In the years since he made the NHL Sylvain has learned how to live in a fishbowl. There are constantly voices from the media, from the fans, from the coaches saying things about his play. He’s learned how to tune most of them out. Learned how to ignore people calling for him to be traded after one bad game. But right now he feels as if he hears one bad thing he’ll snap.

He takes a moment to grieve. He leans against the boards, suddenly zapped of the energy to hold himself upright. It hurts, it physically aches to lose like this. He’s lost before and he’d naively assumed that this would be comparable to other playoff eliminations that he’s experienced. It’s not. It’s worse. It’s so much worse. 

He would have thought that coming this far in the NHL postseason would count for something. That he would still feel pride even though they came away empty-handed. He doesn’t. Not now. Maybe he will tomorrow or in a week, a month, a year, ten years. But not now. Right now all he feels is hurt. 

Even so, he doesn’t cry. He’s too tired to cry. He hears the Hurricanes players and fans celebrate but it’s muted as if he’s completely submerged underwater. He looks around the rink and finds that there’s scarcely a dry eye in the place. 

Players in red overwhelmed with joy weep tears of happiness and relief while those in blue and maroon cry for their lost dreams. 

A hurried linesman bumps into Sylvain’s shoulder and mutters a quick apology. As Sylvain turns to say no problem, he spots Felix for the first time since the final horn sounded. 

There had been a part of Sylvain that had thought, or at least dared to think that Felix would take this loss with his head held high. 

But in fact, Felix has not moved from his crease. He remains curled up in as small of a ball as he can manage with his bulky gear, both hands pressed over his mask that he hasn’t taken off as his shoulders tremble. 

No one has gone near him. Not, Sylvain suspects, because they don’t care, but because no one knows how to even begin to comfort him. But the task at least gives him something to do other than feel sorry for himself and so he skates over. 

Sylvain knows there are cameras everywhere and so it’s kind of a pointless effort but as he kneels, he does his best to shield Felix from view. 

Even through the layers of padding, Felix’s entire spine tenses and Sylvain places a hand on his back, “It’s just me Fe. It’s just me.” 

Felix doesn’t say anything, but he at least lowers one hand from his head and uses it to grab desperately for the collar of Sylvain’s jersey. Sylvain lets his grab, lets him hold on so tightly all color leaves his knuckles. 

Gently, Sylvain pries Felix’s other hand away from his head so they can look each other in the eyes. Through the bars of the mask, he can see the tears that are already falling and he can see how devastated and how tired Felix is. If it had not already been ripped from his chest, Sylvain would feel his heartbreak all over again.

“I know,” he whispers, “I know.” He cannot even begin to pretend that it’s okay. It’s not. It will be someday, but right now it’s not and Felix has never deserved to hear lies. 

Years ago they made this team together. Since then they’ve won and lost together. There have been highs and there have been lows but nothing has quite matched this devastation. He likes to think that in the future that they’ll find an unmatched high and so he has to get them through this moment first. 

They stay like this, in gentle heartbroken silence until the crowd begins to quiet and Sylvain knows that they have to move. It’s time to shake hands with the victors, it’s time to look the team that defeated them in the eye and say ‘Good game, good series’. 

It’s a long-standing tradition. It’s a good tradition, Sylvain thinks, and they’ve already done it three times this postseason. But of course, that had been as the winners, they’d been victorious over the Flames, then the Blues and then finally the Golden Knights. But now, here with the Hurricanes, the roles are reserved and Sylvain can barely bring himself to raise his head as he shakes hand after hand. 

They don't stick around for the Cup presentation. He leaves his left hand on Felix’s back to keep propelling him onward because that’s the only way out. 

The team makes their way back to the visitors' dressing room in solemn silence. Sylvain undresses first. It’s a small comfort but being in a clean shirt does help. It makes him feel something resembling human again,

He turns and finds that Felix has not moved in his stall and so Sylvain bends down and begins to unfasten the dozens of buckles that hold Felix’s gear on before just taking a seat next to him. Felix slumps into him, pressing his sweat-soaked body against Sylvain’s clean clothes but he can’t bring himself to mind. 

“I love you Fe,” Sylvain whispers into Felix’s hair. It’s the one clear thought in his head. He will love Felix if they never win the cup. He will love him on the ice and off of it.

Felix takes a deep breath and sobs harder. 

_ Another Two Years Later _

The goal horn sounds, and, at the far blue line, Sylvain collapses to his knees. He’s instantly tackled by teammates, but it takes Felix a couple more seconds to truly process what this means. 

The packed house is on their feet, screaming at a deafening volume, and the jumbotron above is flashing AVS GOAL and below that, smaller, ‘Final Score COL 2- MON 1 (OT), Colorado wins series 4-2’. 

They’ve won. They’ve won the motherfucking Stanley Cup. 

Suddenly, Felix can’t get out of his gear fast enough. He’s making his way across the ice at top speed, shedding equipment along the way. His mask bounces and skids, his glove and blocker go up in the air and he doesn’t wait around long enough to see where they come down. 

The distance from his own goal to the opposing blue line has never felt longer but he doesn’t mind. He’s exhausted and every part of his body hurts in one way or another but it’s nothing compared to the elation propelling him. 

He throws himself into the pile, the tangled mess of joy and sweaty limbs. His boyfriend is somewhere at the bottom and he’s shoving teammates aside to try and reach him though no one really minds. 

Finally, he reaches Sylvain. Sylvain with his truly atrocious playoff beard that Felix has begged and begged for him to shave. But ever since the miraculous comeback from a 3 game hole in the second round, Sylvain, normally not superstitious, has been unwilling to take any chances. 

And well, they’ve won. Perhaps Sylvain should just never shave again. 

“Hey babe,” Sylvain says with a quiet sniffle. 

Felix frowns as he uses his bare hand to wipe the tears from Sylvain’s face. He hates when Sylvain cries. Even happy tears leave him feeling lost. It’s always been him who cries and Sylvain who always knows the right thing to say. 

“Hey V.” 

Sylvain laughs, disbelieving, “We did it,” He breathes, his voice cracking on the third word. 

“We did it,” Felix echos, and lets Sylvain’s weight knock them both to the ice. 

He's happy. He’s so fucking happy he can’t even fully comprehend it. He loves his team and he loves his sport and it’s worth the devastation of loss and pain of his previously fractured clavicle. It’s worth it because really he loves it all but above all of it, he gets to do it with the man that he loves. 

“Alright!” Dimitri calls with his Captain’s Voice, “Everyone up, lineup for handshakes.” 

The C looks good stitched to Dimitri’s shoulder and of course, he would lead his team to the Cup in only his second year as Captain. 

The handshakes pass in a blur but Felix takes care to pull the opposing goaltenders in close to his chest. Even now he still wakes some nights remembering the crater left in his chest from losing in the final. 

Commissioner Rangeld walks out on the newly rolled out carpet, flanked by other official-looking figures, followed closely behind by a man tasked with carrying the cumbersome Conn Smythe Trophy. 

The Commissioner says some words, words about the Avs as a team, about the playoffs as a whole but Felix hears almost none of it. What he does hear is when the Commissioner calls Sylvain’s name as the newest winner of the Conn Smythe Trophy. He hears his boyfriend named the most valuable player of the playoffs and somehow, his heart soars even more. 

Next to him, Sylvain doesn’t move and Dedue has to punch his d-partner in the shoulder to get any reaction out of him. 

Sylvain skates off slowly as if still believing it could be a mistake as if they could still take it back. He shakes several hands, poses with the trophy before they take it away to make space for the grand prize. 

The Cup arrives, fresh out of its case, shining and glorious and every bit as beautiful as Felix remembers from childhood. Maybe even more so. 

Dimitri skates over shakes the Commissioner's hand, laughs at something he says, poses for a picture, and then waves his alternates over. 

They pose for another picture and then, Dimitri hoists the cup above his head. He kisses the metal like dozens of captains before him, like his father before him. He raises 35 pounds up towards the rafters where his father’s jersey hangs and he roars. 

Felix hears the roar even over the joyous cry of the crowd. He still hears it as Sylvain hands him the cup and then he too is hoisting it high. His father and brother stand off to the side, both dressed in suits, celebrating with the other coaches and management officials. They’ll get their turns with the cup once the players are done. 

As far as Felix is concerned, it could be seconds or minutes or hours that pass before they find themselves spilling back into the dressing room. He’s soaked to the skin in a horrible combination of sweat, water, Gatorade, and what must be beer but he doesn’t care. Fuck he doesn’t care. 

Everyone is stripping out of their disgusting gear as they’re led in a remarkably not horrific rendition of  _ We Are the Champions _ . 

Felix doesn’t bother taking too much care with his gear. He’ll clean it later, disinfect it, maybe burn it in hell, but right now is time for celebration. 

But then his fingers brush across a small black box that he’d tucked in the back of his locker for safekeeping because he was sure that Sylvain would manage to stumble upon it if he kept it at home. 

Just months ago, Ingrid came home from the Olympics with a gold medal around her neck and immediately put a ring on Dorothea’s finger. It had hit Felix then just how much he wants to keep Sylvain in his life. 

So he bought the ring. 

But there hasn’t been a time that’s felt quick right. Sylvain was out for over a month after fracturing a rib and then they’d been too caught up in the frantic push for the playoffs to do anything particularly romantic. 

But they’re both signed with the Avs long term now, they're not in danger of being ripped apart. They’re signed with the team that brought them together in the first place. They’re home. And now they’ve won the Cup. Maybe it’s time to make things official.

With a quick glance around the room, he’s able to find Sylvain taking part in a 3 man effort to properly soak Dimitri with a water cooler. One he empties the cooler on his target’s head, Sylvain beelines back towards Felix’s locker. 

“Hey babe,” he says again, but less dazed this time as if it’s really actually sinking it. Sinking in that they won the Stanley Cup together. 

“Hey.” 

Sylvain plants a kiss at the top of Felix’s forehead, “I have plans for you tonight.” 

“Oh yeah?” 

“Just you wait and see.” 

“Sylvain?” It’s Dedue, as eternally patient as ever, “The media is asking for you.” 

Of course, they’re asking for the man who was not just the pillar of their defense through 22 long, exhausting games but also just scored the Cup Clinching goal all of 14 seconds into OT. 

“Okay yeah, just a moment, I’ll be out soon,” Sylvain promises before turning back to Felix, “When we’re both done with media, meet me by stairs?” 

Felix knows that he too will have to face the media at some point here but he’s waiting until he can form a single coherent thought that isn’t meant exclusively for Sylvain’s ears. 

“Yeah, alright,” Felix’s fingers close around the little black box, “There’s something I need to talk to you about too.” 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am Once Again thank you for reading this entire thing which got totally out of hand from the quick premise I thought it would be when I started. 
> 
> Like I said I am feeling Every Emotion with this ending. I am not Quite Sure if I am totally ready to let go of this AU just yet and so if you enjoyed E&B be on the lookout for Boxes and Boards a collection of mostly stand-alone one-shots in this universe about things such as (but not limited to) Ingrid and Dorothea, Catherine and Shamir, and Glenn and Christophe's relationships. It could be coming anywhere from weeks to months to years to never from now but we'll see. 
> 
> There is no optional reading, just that NHL hockey is coming back. 
> 
> Thank you again.   
> With much love,   
> Jade

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for putting up with my nonsense!  
> Special shoutout to the crew for listening to me go on about this for literal months and eating my crumbs and not letting me give up. Ily!


End file.
